Confinement & Escape
by reulte
Summary: After two years imprisoned in The Citadel, Echo is back in the army.  Now an imperial stormtrooper, his task is to suppress rebellion.  Has Echo, Fives, Rex, Ahsoka, Kix... along with OCs.
1. Chapter 1

**The Cost of Confinement**

Echo was an angry man.

He had been a prisoner in the Citadel for two years. Of course they tortured him after they healed his wounds. He was just a soldier, just a clone. Echo tried not to tell them what they asked, but in the end, he did. Just as they had known he would; just as he had known he would.

He was a bitter man.

Echo had hoped someone would come after him; he had expected someone to come after him, but no one did. He realized then that he was just a clone, just another cog, totally replaceable by the next man in line. Even to his brothers.

Even in prison, even behind the high walls of the Citadel, he heard rumors that the war had ended. He believed it because suddenly there were very few droids active in the Citadel. After a day without water Echo used his escape plan simply to find out what had happened. He still hadn't figured out a way to escape the planet but getting to the Citadel's main offices was easy. There were other prisoners and he was too much a trooper to simply let them out. He rigged up two droids to help him keep them fed and watered. Someone would come.

Even then, he had hope though he tried to suppress it.

Finally someone was sent to evaluate all the prisoners. When they brought him, the auditor had simply waved his hand. "A clone deserter. We certainly don't need to interview that."

That. A single word as though he'd been an object instead of a man.

Echo realized he should have done a better job suppressing hope.

"I didn't desert." He clarified, though he'd been ordered to keep silent.

"Really." The auditor asked, but not with a question. Echo had learned the rudiments of understanding body language a long time ago. He had refined it in prison where an inflection or a single misunderstood gesture could mean the difference between eating and starvation, between sleeping and torture. The auditor didn't believe him, but there had been that 'ARC' in his designation. He was returned to Kamino.

Bitter didn't begin to describe him.

He was sent to Kamino for evaluation under guard and key. He didn't ask why. Their body language told him they wouldn't answer his questions. On Kamino and, later, on Coruscant, he answered their questions and nothing more. He didn't speak except when spoken to by a superior officer. He ignored the other troopers and, for the most part, civilians unless their body language told him they were important. Even then, he didn't speak to them beyond 'yes sir' and 'no ma'am'.

Echo waited and he read; his one enjoyment. He was assigned to a company, pending certification, but not the 501st. He had started to ask, but Commander Cody was there, newly assigned as Kamino Imperial Battalion Commander of the cloning facilities and training of new clones at Timira City. The Commander remembered him; and his body language warned Echo away from asking anything about the 501st.

Echo trained and he listened. He was in the mess when he heard about the captain and for Echo there had always been only one captain. He covered his eyes with a big hand on discovering Rex was a traitor; that some of the best men in the 501st had gone traitor – Chopper, Kix. Even Fives. Echo couldn't understand that. The two troopers talking sounded sympathetic but he knew what to do and reported the two men he had overhead talking about traitors.

Then he read about Order 66 and a few things became understandable. He couldn't find it in himself to believe the commander had been a traitor and he hoped she had escaped. He hoped that Rex's treason had been worthwhile but he never mentioned it to anyone. He didn't have to. Most of the clones avoided him by now. It was rumored he was here to be reconditioned.

He was recertified for ARC. The considered reconditioning him and, for a short while, Echo wanted to be reconditioned. He wanted to forget what they had done to him in the Citadel. He wanted to forget that no one had come for him, that his closest brothers were deserters. But in the end, he'd been considered stable and not reconditioned. It had never been his choice to make. Echo couldn't find it in himself to really care one way or the other. They gave him new armor and deployed him to his company.

"CT-ARC-21-0408 reporting for duty." It was the only conversation he had initiated with his new command. He answered their questions.

"I was with the 501st, sir. I spent the last two years imprisoned on the Citadel then retraining and physical conditioning at Kamino. The Citadel mission was classified at the time, sir. I don't know now."

Echo was working on a design for his armor when his new captain came into the mess and stopped at his table. Echo stood at attention, then parade rest.

"You don't own the armor and you're not allowed to mark it. You don't have a name, ARC." Echo shrugged and crumpled the flimsi with the design.

"Yes, sir." The five blue lines would have been too obvious anyway.

He was no longer Echo, but oh-eight again.

It was easy to do nothing, easy to be just another stormtrooper, easy to let the days go by. It was easy and that scared Echo.

Then he heard they had a prisoner; a deserter, a traitor, and Echo was curious. What could be worth deserting your brothers?

* * *

><p><strong><span>The Price of Escape<span>**

The prisoner sat on the bunk. The scars on his face were interspersed with dark bruises and contusions. He looked up at the guard wearing the Phase II armor. He was slightly more muscular than most clones. _ARC-modified then_, thought Chopper.

He had managed the first round of interrogation. He couldn't remember a question beyond "You think you're tough, deserter?" There'd be another round, he knew, probably with this ARC and he would be a bit more damaged. Then the real interrogation would follow; with drugs and a sympathetic man with a kind, sorrowful voice. The kind of man who truly listened; the kind of man who didn't so much ask questions as simply elicit information.

Fortunately, he had been with Ahsoka. He didn't remember why she couldn't have used the Force on his captors; maybe there were too many, maybe they were using electronics, he didn't remember, but he didn't try too hard either.

He did remember what he had known and chuckled through a split lip. The Empire would be very unhappy to hear they'd been so close to finding out the information but had failed. Chopper didn't remember the information itself either. He did remembered turning to her. "Make me forget, Ahsoka," he commanded and she had done so. She'd done something else, but he couldn't remember that either though he suspected it had to do with the wedding band they'd taken. There was a white ring around his finger where they had removed it and a blank ring in his mind. Chopper was so glad he couldn't tell them anything valuable.

The big ARC merely observed him and Chopper decided he was a very good observer; much better than anyone else in this Imperial Army. He'd be a hard man to fool and Chopper was glad he really didn't know anything.

The prisoner sat on the bunk. Echo shook his head. Chopper didn't know anything; that … confidence … radiated from him. In spite of the beating he'd already taken, in spite of the beating he was expecting.

Echo wanted to rip off his helmet and hug Chopper; wanted to scream his joy that he'd found someone who would _understand_, wanted to sob on Chopper's shoulders. He wanted to cry and be comforted and ask about the captain and the commander. Echo wanted to _know_ about Fives.

Echo sighed and stood. "You're going to tell me everything you know," he said in a resigned voice.

"Probably," Chopper replied in a matter of fact tone.

_I'm glad I don't know anything_ said his body as plain as his broken noise, as evident as his crushed hand.

Echo reached down for Chopper's hand and gently held it; supported it in his own hand as he inspected the damage Chopper tensed and his face become stone. His hand felt like a warm, padded sack of thick water.

"What's the internal damage?" Echo asked.

Chopper grimaced and hissed at the movement of his hand. His stony face dropped into pain.

"I'd say it's pretty much pulped." His voice was tight. "Permanent unless I get it set and into bacta within… oh …" Chopper glanced at the walls. "No chron and I've been busy, so I don't know." He shrugged with his opposite shoulder. "Maybe it's already too late."

Chopper gasped in pain as Echo turned his hand palm up, still carefully supporting it.

"Who was with you?" Echo didn't really care, but there was the illusion of interrogation to maintain.

Chopper laughed though his face was pale.

"Thought so." Echo inspected Chopper's fingertips. "I suspect you're right about your hand also." As gently as possible he set Chopper's hand back on his leg, letting the forearm take the weight. "I think it's already too late." Already the fingertips were darkening into purple. Echo ran the tip of his finger just above the white line on Chopper's swollen finger.

"What's this?"

"Some troopers took my ring along with everything else."

"You wore it a lot," commented Echo.

"It was to stay on my hand until I died." There was another nonchalant shrug from one of Chopper's shoulders. "I guess this counts."

"Will you tell me why you would wear it so long?" Echo was curious. It was a civilian thing; otherwise he would know what it meant. It was a civilian thing that Chopper did and yet wearing jewelry did not fit Chopper. He saw Chopper observe him, knowing the question as personal and not the question of the interrogation.

"Bring it back to me and let me die with it on. They will have inspected it by now and discovered that it's nothing more than what it appears."

Echo pointed out the obvious. "It won't fit on your finger." He gestured to Chopper's swollen fingers; puffed and swollen.

"You can make it fit."

Echo winced at Chopper's answer. Chopper must have caught his body's reaction. He chuckled again.

Echo shook his head softly. "You know you'll ruin my reputation as an interrogator if you keep laughing."

Chopper laughed aloud at that and Echo smiled inside his helmet. Chopper hadn't laughed much when he'd been a trooper. Now he was a prisoner but still found something to laugh at.

"Your reputation is not my concern but I'll try to keep my merriment to a dull roar." Chopper gave a lop-sided grin.

"I'll be right back." He was gone only a moment; Chopper's belongings, including the ring but minus the blaster and vibroknife, were on a table at the cellblock entrance.

He held the ring between two fingers. "I don't …" he began, but paused. How could Echo say he didn't want to hurt Chopper when he was here to 'soften him up' for the real interrogation?

Chopper reached out with his undamaged hand and, when Echo dropped the ring into his hand, manipulated it onto the third finger of his good hand, pushing the ring against his thigh. He smiled at Echo.

"It can go on either hand. It's a symbol and a message that I've been claimed by a woman as her husband. That I take care of her and she takes care of me. That we belong to a community." Chopper became solemn. "Thank you for letting me die with it on."

"_Kriff_," muttered Echo. "I wish you hadn't told me that."

"Because you'll go get the woman and promise to let her go if I tell you what you want to know?" Chopper smiled a secret and confident smile.

"I didn't want to interrogate you. I will not do that to a civilian." Echo paced the small cell, shaking his head.

"Why not? It's not uncommon. If I'd been civilian would my face be any prettier? My hand any less damaged?"

Echo frowned. Chopper had the truth of it. He'd seen civilians interrogated. They called them 'guerilla fighters'; troopers in an un-uniformed army.

"If they order it, you'll do it." Chopper said quietly. "But don't worry about her until the time comes to ask."

Echo sighed and sat down. Chopper was right about that. "Will you tell me about being married? Nothing personal if you don't want; just … what it's like?"

Chopper relaxed against the wall. This ARC was either inspired or stupid. "Remember the first day you got your armor? How proud you were?" He saw the ARC nod. "It's like that but better. It's like having a brother by choice but better. At night she would take all the hurt and pain I'd gone through," Chopper glanced up, "And deserting my brothers was not easy whatever you may think of me. But every night she takes it all away. Every morning, I feel reborn."

"Sex."

"No." Chopper corrected. "The sex is nice and good; but that isn't what makes the nights good. It's being held in spite of all the wrong I'd done. It's another heart crying for my pain. It's love. Don't ever confuse love with sex." Chopper paused wondering how the ARC would react. He'd heard the new guys had been taught there was no such thing as love; that it was only sexual hormones and sexual fulfillment and brain chemistry.

The ARC nodded and Chopper wished he could see the man's face. "I had a …" He paused, stood and moved to the entry door. Then he came back. "I had a brother by choice once."

Past tense; dead then. "I'm sorry," said Chopper.

"I'm not. For a while I had him as my brother. Best man in the whole company. _My_ brother."

"What happened?" Chopper could hear the tears in the ARC's voice. He shifted and his hand fell against the bar of the bunk. He cried out in pain. The ARC knelt, holding Chopper's hand.

The ARC looked up at Chopper through the intimidating visor slits and reached for his medpack. "What's your tolerance for class 2 painkiller?"

Chopper's eyes narrowed and he considered lying. Six of the caplets would _probably_ kill him. Seven would for sure. He sighed knowing it would be impossible to lie to this observant trooper. "Five." The ARC nodded and pulled out seven. He poured five of the caplets into the palm of Chopper's good hand.

"That's for pain." He spoke quietly and dropped the other two caplets with the remainder. "That's for choice. If you die here, they'll take you to the morgue. It's pretty deserted most of the time, no droids. It even has an outside door." Chopper heard the breath of his mouth open as if to say something more, but nothing else came out except the steady panting of a man under stress.

Chopper nodded. The ARC wasn't promising anything. He was giving Chopper his choice of a reasonably painless death and maybe, just maybe, the slightest possibility of escape.

Chopper waited until the ARC had gone. Another stormtrooper came in and showed him the wall a few times until he nearly passed out. It was easy to pretend to pass out and he slump to the floor. It wasn't that uncomfortable on the cool stone floor. The stormtrooper gave him a kick against his hip for good measure then left to make a report.

Chopper's entire arm throbbed now and all the fingers of his crushed hand were turning purple. It seemed that simply looking at his hand hurt.

Seven of the pills would kill him and that was an attractive option; five would be eaten up by the pain. He looked again at his crushed hand and took six of the pills. The seventh he crushed under his foot near the corner of his cell. They'd find it, hopefully later rather than sooner.

* * *

><p>He woke up because it was cold and he was shivering. Looking around he saw other bodies and knew he was the living one. "Cause I'm cold, you understand," he told the other corpses. He couldn't get the door open then looked down and realized he'd been trying to use his useless hand. The door opened easily once he switched hands from the purple-black hand to the one merely a blue-white. He pulled his tag off and was about to throw it away but smiled and switched it with the tag on another corpse. "S'ok, darling. Just another piece of jewelry." He knew he wasn't making sense, but they weren't listening to him. "You're not attentive. You don't observe; that's why you're dead." He staggered out of the cold locker. "You're good company," he turned his head and told the bodies, lined and laid out in some Imperial order. "But I've got to be somewhere else."<p>

He staggered through the outskirts of the military camp; a hedge-maze of brothels and bars, his head down, his good arm curled around his hand, looking drunk and beaten, talking to people that weren't there. Talking to people that hadn't been there for years.

The painkiller was starting to fade. He made it to one of the brothels and passed out on the floor. He smiled up at what he hoped was a familiar face, glad he'd made it somewhere. He hoped it was the right one.

Ahsoka was there when he woke and he could feel the vibrations of hyperspace flight. He'd been cleaned, shaved and tended to. He glanced down at the space where his hand had been.

"There's nothing on board, Chopper, to replace your hand."

"As near as I can figure, I should be dead, Ahsoka. My hand is a cheap price to pay." He rubbed his forehead with his good hand. The ring gleamed in the dim light of the med unit and he smiled at that. "Did everything go as planned?" He grinned wanly at her. "Whatever the plan was?"

"We had to makeshift your part, but yes. It was a success."

"Will you give me back the memories of my wife? She might be a bit upset if I don't recognize her."

Ahsoka laughed. "She won't, not at you, anyway. But before I walk your mind, I want to know what happened after you were captured. You won't be allowed to know anything more, to go on any missions in the future."

Chopper nodded. "It's a good rule. I don't think I've been brainwashed for the Empire, but how would I know?" He closed his eyes; tired to the very core of his being. "I'm glad, Ahsoka. I'm tired of all this and I'm only sorry…"

"I'll miss you, Chopper." She stroked his face with her palm. "You've always been the best partner.'

Chopper gave her a grin. "Better than Rex?"

"Yes, but don't tell him." Her nose wrinkled at the wideness of her grin and she laid her head gently on his chest. His arm came around her.

"It should end for the two of you, also. I'll tell you that, commander. I'll be praying every day for this and every war to end for the two of you." She sighed deeply and didn't tell him but he'd been her partner for a long time. "The Force says the war won't end for you?" She gave a shake of her head and sat up.

"Rex says it's our punishment for living." She bowed her head. "How did you escape?"

Chopper pulled his lower lip with his teeth as he thought. "There was an ARC. He talked to me rather than interrogated me. I'm glad; I think he could have gotten past some of the barriers you've set up in my head but he wasn't interested in interrogation. When he asked my tolerance for painkillers and I told him five; he gave me seven."

Ahsoka sucked in a breath and Chopper nodded slightly. "Enough for a peaceful death if I had chosen that. He also told me if I died during interrogation I'd be taken to the morgue. He said it had an outside door."

"You always did chance things, Chopper." She had tears in her eyes.

"So did he, Ahsoka. Consider how easily he could have been caught."

"Who was he?"

Chopper shook his head, tiredly. "Someone who should have deserted but didn't.

* * *

><p>Just a one-shot...<p>

Read, enjoy, review...


	2. Just a nightmare

**Note:** Sometimes, while I'm writing on a longer story a fragment from somewhere else will slip in. I was in the middle of Scars / Ordo Plutonia with a side of Rishi / Breakfast and this little image showed up. Rather than push these little snippets aside, I write them and continue one with the longer story.

So, for your angst-y enjoyment ….

* * *

><p><strong><span>Just a Nightmare ...<span>**

"It's just a nightmare, Deena." Chopper stroked her shoulder at her muffled half-awake question as he moved his arm from under her. "I'm going to take a small walk." He leaned over and tucked his face in the warm junction of her head and shoulder, feeling her silken hair against his cheek. "I won't be long."

"Don't be," she mumbled softly, reaching back absently and patting him on the leg.

The night air was cool with a crispness that would turn to freeze over the next few days. Chopper glanced at the woodpile. Old-timers had told him and Deena it would be appreciated, that the solar powered furnaces just didn't seem to heat the homes sufficiently. Rex had helped him with the stack of wood that bordered the shed. Chopper had been clumsy with only one hand even though he hadn't feel clumsy. He wished Rex or Ahsoka were here now simply so he could talk with them. Rex had a way of cleaning the detritus from an issue, of clarifying it without changing the focus. And Ahsoka … Chopper closed his eyes in sorrow. Ahsoka would gently touch the Force and _know_. If she didn't know, she would make it her business to find out.

Chopper hated the dream; and it was a dream not a nightmare. Technically. No screaming or thrashing like you were drowning and needed air. No crying for nightmares of your brothers bleeding on the battlefield and there were too many of them for you to help. No screaming while you were falling from the air amid flak and shrapnel because your LAAT had been shot down.

He had coped with those nightmares; done the exercises and rehearsed the alternate end images suggested by Kix. That practice had worked well and after three years he usually slept peacefully. Only once or twice had he woken Deena while in the throes of a nightmare but nothing recent.

This dream disturbed him because of its clarity, because of its richness of detail so unlike the shadow-filled fragments of his other nightmares.

_He was back in the morgue, cold and shivering, with his crushed hand sending waves of pain up his arm. That was illusionary and specific to the dream; he hadn't even felt his hand once he'd woken up. This time, as he made it to the door, the corpses sat up and encouraged him on his way. Some with enthusiasm – _

"_You'll make it, Chopper." That had been the woman he'd put his tag on. _

_Others with disgruntlement. _

"_Bout time you left." _

"_You make too much noise to be one of us." _

_And as he switched hands and opened the door, he looked back. The ARC was there, sitting lazily on one of the morgue tables, one arm slung over his hiked-up knee. With a deep sigh, the ARC raised his hand and removed the helmet._

"_I'm sorry, Chopper," whispered Echo. "What would I have said?" The he set the helmet back on and lay down on the morgue table, a corpse like the others._

"Ah, Echo." Chopper mumbled as he leaned on the fence. "Tell me it wasn't you."

Because he didn't want to think that he hadn't been able to identify someone who'd once been a friend. Because he was no longer part of the rebellion. Because he'd been in Imperial hands Ahsoka and Rex and Kix and Fives could no longer afford to trust him with their existence. Because after Rex had helped with the firewood, he had said good-bye. Because there was no way Chopper could get in touch with them again.

"Tell me it wasn't you," whispered Chopper as he stared at the crystal stars in a black sky, tears cold on his face.


	3. Respect for the Dead

**A/N** - Umm, a few gruesome parts and not-neat dead bodies, so be warned.

**Respect for the Dead**

They'd come in like the unstoppable Imperial Stormtroopers they were and the defenders hadn't stood a chance though they had held out for two days.

Oh-eight looked at the destruction. The building was gone, only torn stone and twisted durasteel foundations remained, blackened by fire that hadn't quite consumed the building. Weakened by the fire, the building had fallen in, crushing the few remaining surviving defenders, and the captain had smiled maliciously as he eyed the narrow openings into the hollow where their bodies resided.

"You'll need to remove your armor to get inside," he observed. "ARC, you and R-50 have clean up."

R-50 stifled his groan and looked miserably at Oh-eight. CT-R-5050 had come out of Kamino reconditioned and was low man among the troopers. He didn't know why he'd been reconditioned but that very stigma kept him as low man. Fifty so very badly wanted to be part of a squad, part of a group, and he tried hard. Oh-eight didn't care about the others, knowing that friends were only temporary.

"I'll take the inside, R-50," ARC Oh-eight volunteered as he started to remove his armor. That meant his helmet with the air filter though he'd keep the cooling body glove. He set his armor near the opening and carefully slid down into a hollow. He found himself in a low, caved-in bunker with tunnels leading away. Most of the area was fire-blackened and blast-burnt. At a quick count, he saw fifteen bodies but there was no telling how many bodies he'd find in the side tunnels. None of them seemed burnt and Oh-eight was glad for that small favor. The smell of burnt flesh would have kept him from eating for several days.

Corpse clean up was not enjoyable duty and the captain assigned it as punishment, usually as encouragement for the troopers to do better in hope of avoiding clean-up in the future. In Oh-eight's case it was strictly punishment. Oh-eight chuckled as he marked an elderly woman for disposal. A blast wound in her chest showed how she had died and he gently closed her eyes with his fingers after the scan.

"You don't need to see what I'll be doing." Oh-eight knew they'd been anti-Imperial traitors, but that didn't mean they didn't deserve a little respect. He'd die one day; not that he'd receive any respect. His own troopers would simply send him back to Kamino where he was pretty sure he'd be dissected. Enemy combatants would probably spit on him and toss his body to the scavengers. But you didn't do everything simply because you'd get a reward for it. Oh-eight gave a bitter laugh. In his case, he did things simply to get punished. But his respect for the dead…

He wasn't sure why he was careful with the dead. Oh, yeah, everything in his past was dead; his captain, his commander, his brother. If he was respectful to the dead, maybe, just maybe there'd be some sort of afterlife for the people he had loved. Maybe, just maybe there was a _good_ afterlife for them. He'd pay for it in any way he could so he treated their corpses, both his fellow troopers and enemy combatants, with respect. Most of the time, he derided his thoughts as delusional wish-fulfillment; but not when he was actually in the presence of the dead themselves.

He bit back tears and set to work. She'd had no identification on her and had been born long before Imperial strictures had been implemented in neonate identification. Neither her retinal scan nor her fingerprints gave a reading. He tapped her jugular with the small needle. Her genetics didn't match anything on record either; neither back or forward to the F3 generation.

"It's good to know you don't have any family in this little machine, isn't it?" He gave the machine a little pat as he whispered conspiratorially to her deaf ears. "No siblings, no children. No one related to you by blood has been caught by the Empire."

Her body had stiffened into rigor then relaxed. Others in the reinforced basement were still in rigor. That meant she'd been one of the first to die. Cautiously, Oh-eight checked her for any concealed traps or explosives. Though, as he told her corpse, 'that would be disrespectful of your companions'. There were none and he picked her up and carried her to the opening. CT-R-5050 would take her for destruction.

As he moved her, Oh-eight heard a tiny ping, a small noise as though a sliver of metal had been dropped on a stone floor. He froze. _Booby-trapped_, his mind catalogued even as his eyes searched out the mechanism. _Fierfik_, how could he have missed it?

Something glinted on the dusty basement floor. Something shiny and reflecting in one of the small shafts of light that lanced in through narrow passageways.

Oh-eight reached down and picked up the fire-damaged disk the size of his thumb-print. Its front had a small symbol on it that he'd seen a couple of times in civilian sectors but didn't recognize; two ovals coming together and meeting in a point. It looked like a civilian's conception of two blood drops flowing together. Not that it was the color of real blood. Oh-eight had seen enough to know. He flipped it over between his fingers; the back was soot-covered. Again he turned to the front's surface. There was no Imperial insignia but neither was it one of the rumored 'Rebellion disk' put out as propaganda against the Empire. Rebellion disks were usually a form of thickened flimsi or a low-grade plastic. This disk was old-fashion, pre-holochron, glass. A story disk. Thoughtfully, he turned it back to the soot covered side and held it to the dim light coming from a crack in the wall where Imperial blast had broken through. There didn't appear to be any scratches or chemical degradation, only the soot. Soot was merely chemical deposit. Soot could be cleaned off.

Suddenly Oh-eight felt a small, brief flicker of something more than the daily turmoil. He could clean it, read it. Regs manuals were becoming repetitive and Imperial reports had never been interesting except in trying to tease out valid information from lies.

If they found him with it… well, it wasn't exactly contraband. He'd get a demerit. Maybe. Probably, and extra duty as well. The captain didn't like him and used any valid excuse to punish him.

It was sad, really. He'd been in the Citadel and what the captain considered punishment was merely a means for Oh-eight to keep his mind off who he'd once been.

He held the disk in front of his eyes, a soft light brightening the amber-brown, a softening of the hard expression of his face.

What did civilians read?

* * *

><p>What can I say? A drive-by musing...<p>

Read, review...


	4. O, For a Voice

**Oh, for a Voice**

The rebel was a woman and she faced him with eyes wide in fear. She was close to her later middle age but there was a benign innocence that reminded Oh-eight of someone much younger.

Oh-eight hated these assignments; killing citizens. They were usually ill-trained guerrilla fighters on some planet the Emperor probably couldn't even name; the Imperial presence leaving as soon as they had routed rebellion and all presence of a law-abiding society.

Her eyes slowly turned toward her blaster. She'd left it on the table. She wasn't even a decent fighter and Oh-eight would have to kill her. He tilted his head as a parent might to a small child who'd forgotten some small piece of etiquette. He'd regret this to some small extent, regret that she'd never had a chance, regret whatever choices had turned her into a rebel. He might even remember her some lonely nights and say Remembrance for … no, he hardened and raised the blaster. He hadn't said Remembrance for anyone since he'd heard of Fives desertion.

"Oh, for a voice like thunder…." She murmured softly, her body relaxing, preparing to die.

Oh-eight slowly lowered the blaster.

It was from his reading disk.

He raised the blaster again and brought her into the sights, then slowly lowered it to her confusion. He did this several times; each time lowering more quickly and raising the blaster to sight with more evident reluctance. She had a look of … wanting to help; as though he were lost and she wanted to give him directions.

Oh-eight had an absurd image of him stopping by someone's house and her coming out the front door. In peace, not afraid and not with some weapon or another. "Yes, Echo?" she'd say. "Can I help you? Would you like some water? Are you lost?"

Firmly and with determination, he raised the blaster and sighted. For a long moment, they stood in some silent, unmoving tableau.

Her head tilted and she raised her eyebrows. She relaxed again, smiling softly.

Smiling.

She _kriffing_ smiled.

Oh-eight growled deep in his throat and slowly lowered the blaster a final time. Standing still, the blaster in both hands, but pointing to the ground, he recited the next line to her amused confusion. "...and a tongue to drown the throat of war."

As though it were some secret code, she answered him with the third line. "When the senses are shaken, and the soul is driven to madness, who can stand?"

_Fierfik_, he muttered angrily as he took several long strides to stand in front of her. She stared at him, unblinking, her mouth slightly open like a nuna spot-lit in the darkness. He raised his gauntleted fist and brought it heavily down against her head.

* * *

><p>When she woke, it was dark and she had a pair of binders on her wrists as well as the most ferocious headache she'd ever had. There was the acrid smell of blaster fire in the small room. She'd been hidden behind a pile of rubble and there was a canvas over her body, but not restricting her face. Nor had she been sexually used. At least not yet, but she had no doubt that would come. She struggled, but he was a professional soldier and she was only a teacher who'd lost too many students.<p>

After several hours, he returned, bringing water, anodyne and several ration sticks.

"I'm sorry I took so long." He said but offered no further explanation as he removed the binders, briskly rubbed feeling back into her hands and offered her the water and pills for her headache.

He shifted impatiently on the rubble as she drank thirstily and slowly nibbled the ration stick, stalling.

"What does it mean," he demanded as soon as she seemed to be finished.

"What does what mean?" She blinked in confusion. She was prepared to fight against rape. Some of the other women said to survive you had to relax, empty your mind of what was happening. She couldn't do that and she was preparing to fight. He'd overpower her, of course, but maybe he'd end up killing her. She had heard some of the stormtroopers didn't realize the strength differential between men and women; between stormtroopers and civilians. She could hope for a quick, relatively clean death; she'd fight for it.

"What you said," he explained. His voice was still hard, but not as demanding. "Oh, for a voice like thunder…" he continued for three more lines. "I know what I have is not complete." He shook his head. "It cuts off mid-word. What does it mean and what is the remainder?"

She blinked several more times in bemused confusion. He was a stormtrooper and he wanted to talk poetry?

He gave a hard sigh and pulled off his helmet, setting it on the rubble next to him, as he observed her for a few, long moments. "Placate me in this and I won't rape you." His hair was mussed; sweat-dried and pushed aside, pressed in his helmet in odd swirls. He had grey streaks randomly in his dark hair and she recognized his face as one of the crèche-born, the clones. His eyes were a beautiful brown, soft and soulful, but surrounded by hardness and pain. There was a twist of dark humor on his lips when he spoke, but it was gone in an instant. He seemed a young man too soon old.

That was definitely a good bargain he offered. She hoped he would honor it. "It's a man pleading with his leader and people to join the rebellion." She paused and he nodded.

"Go on." It was a request, not a command.

"He's bemoaning the fact that he has to convince them; that they can't see the truth before their very eyes. He is pleading for his life as well."

Oh-eight nodded. "And the rest?"

Softly, she recited the poem for him from the beginning.

_O for a voice like thunder, and a tongue to drown the throat of war!_

_When the senses are shaken, and the soul is driven to madness, who can stand?_

_When the souls of the oppressèd fight in the troubled air that rages, who can stand?_

_When the whirlwind of fury comes from the throne of God, when the frowns of his countenance drive the nations together, who can stand?_

_When Sin claps his broad wings over the battle, and sails rejoicing in the flood of Death; when souls are torn to everlasting fire, and fiends of Hell rejoice upon the slain, O who can stand?_

_O who hath causèd this?_

_O who can answer at the throne of God?_

_The Kings and Nobles of the Land have done it! _

_Hear it not, Heaven, thy Ministers have done it!_

His lips pursed together and for a moment she thought she'd gone too far.

"Again, please," he asked politely; as though he didn't have a blaster and strength of arms to force his will on her.

She had gotten to the end of the second sentence when he put up a hand.

"This phrase, 'who can stand'. Can you explain that?" He asked, his brown eyes shining with curiousity.

"Maybe a little," she offered hesitantly. "Some people say it means to 'tolerate'. In other words, who can tolerate this upheaval. They use his words as condemnation of war."

"You disagree." It was a definite statement; something he knew about her rather than guessed. She nodded.

"It refers to the quality of humanness, he's asking who can remain human in the face of war. It is a condemnation against the necessity of war, a condemnation of the monsters war makes of men, of what war does to…." Her voice faded as she faced the soldier.

Oh-eight saw her fear. What she said might have angered his captain or some of the new clones, but he only nodded. "There's too much of one's self that is very easy to lose, very easy to let go of because it's not important to survival. But in the end, you find out that survival isn't as important as what was lost." His face was sad.

She was silent and he handed her another flask of water, uncapping the seal with his thumb. "Thank you," she said quietly and took a sip, then handed it back to him. "Surely you're aware of poetry?" She asked, unsure if she should.

"Yes, but nothing like that. We have poetry, mostly in Mando'a." He shook his head then took some of the water and thought for a moment. "But it's about concrete things; about duty and brotherhood. About the…" he rubbed his fingers together. "About the physical-ness of war; vengeance, things to make soldiers breathe together and become a unit. Some of it is body-poetry; something to recite in the practice of martial arts, mnemonics." He paused and seemed about to say something but changed his mind. He gestured, his fingers opening gracefully. "This…'Oh for a voice of thunder'… it speaks of so much more. It is not _just_ a man speaking to his people, not _just_ a man begging for his life, not _just_ a man speaking about the horrors of war. He's saying more, I know it." He shook his head softly. "But I don't understand it."

She sighed. He was right, there was so much more to the poet's works. "He speaks of the condition of being human; sometimes the war is the war of conflicting emotions, between choices everyone must make, ethics. He speaks of the the slavery of the mind to the body as well as the slavery of people. He speaks of the inevitable corruption of power, that what replaces the emperor will crumbled as well. He talks about the condition of the soul, states that droids, for all their lack of these willful emotions no one can control, will never replace biological units… "

"He wrote this before the Rebellion? Before the Clone Wars?" The stormtrooper demanded.

"Long before. His writings are some of the earliest poetry known and no one is actually sure if he was really human or what planet he lived on.

The stormtrooper sighed. "No one has listened to his words yet. If I was ever an optimist…" his voice trailed off and he shook his head regretfully.

"Remain one," she advised. "At the end of the poem, he calls them to account, remember? "O who hath causèd this… who can answer? Someday, someone must answer to all this destruction."

Oh-eight shook his head, preferring his hard-earned pessimism. "What else has he written?"

The rebel shook her head with a grin. "Words and words and words. He wrote a lot about war and power; as though he didn't think anyone would listen and he must drown them in words. Here's another…."

Oh-eight listened. She had an ear for the language of poetry, an elegant way of explaining what it meant, an understanding that went deep beyond the surface and sheer joy in talking about the poetry.

"You studied this, didn't you," he asked during a pause as she thought of another poem.

She laughed, the canvas pulled around her for warmth, and shook her head. "I taught it." Her eyes sparkled.

He gave her a small smile. "You teach it very well." He licked his lower lip, contemplating telling her how much he was enjoying this. Then shook his head. He didn't have to give her that power over him.

She closed her eyes, searching her memory. She opened them. "This is part of a longer poem, but I think it is appropriate." Her face softened. "You're a stormtrooper. But I had forgotten that you are also a person."

_For his teeth seem for laughing round an apple._

_There lurk no claws behind his fingers supple;_

_And God will grow no talons at his heels,_

_Nor antlers through the thickness of his curls."_

Oh-eight froze and his face was pale. "Get out," he snarled. "Get out now!"

She didn't need to be encouraged. She didn't need him pulling the threatening white helmet over his head, didn't need to see him reaching for his blaster.

She ran.

Only later did she wonder if there had been tears in his expressive brown eyes before he had pulled on the mask and persona of a stormtrooper. Only later did she wonder if the noise that had followed his roar of anger had been the quiet cries of a lost soul.

* * *

><p>'Oh, for a voice like thunder' is by William Blake. The best rendition is by Douglas Campbell on Loreena McKinnit's <span>Elemental<span>.

The second verse comes from Wilfred Owens' 'Arms and the Boy'.

Both are very worthwhile in reading, reciting and reading about. Loreena McKinnit is very worthwhile listening. I'm only wondering why I didn't quote some Shakespeare.

*Sigh*. Read and enjoy, read and review, read and go check out poetry.


	5. Midnight Dreams

**Midnight Dreams**

Ahsoka seemed a thousand parsecs away, her hands on the controls of the big transport moving as if by themselves as she easily avoided asteroids. Rex tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, a normal way to ask her so many different types of question with no one else the wiser about what was being asked. With Bail Organa of Aldaraan on board along with several other dignitaries _possibly_ to join an organized rebel alliance, as well as assistants and bodyguards, Rex didn't want to bring any attention to her as anything other than a pilot. He smiled and winked.

Still, she stared beyond him, her eyes glazed and staring at the hyperspace star streaks.

He sighed softly then again a little deeper when she didn't react. This time the corner of her lips turned upward and her eyes were no longer staring beyond everything though she hadn't moved. He smiled again, grabbed one of the datapads and approached her from his engineer's station.

"What's the news?" He whispered as he pressed the datapad into her hands. "From..." he shrugged a shoulder. Anyone looking would have assumed he'd been referring to a creditor or an unpleasant customer.

Her forehead wrinkled, partially at the datapad. She had always been an instinctive pilot, she actually had to look and try to remember what the data actually said, what the information meant in relation to her ship. She nodded as if at the information. "I'm not sure. I was thinking of.." she glanced to the others on board. Some were arguing voraciously, Bail Organa one of them as well as the Corellian and the Chandrilan. Others were listening to the discussion, others paying no attention. None of them appeared to be paying attention to a Togrutan pilot and her human engineer, but that was a skill easily mastered by both rebels and Imperial agents.

"My last partner," she prevaricated. Chopper was out of this now; no longer part of rebellion.

Rex nodded. "I'm glad someone made it out alive." He rubbed his hand on her shoulder. Normally the tip of one lekku would drift by his hand, caressing his knuckles and rest in the curve of his thumb. This time they merely twitched in agitation.

Again her eyes stared into measureless distance. "He didn't."

"I made sure, 'Soka." His voice was sharp though still low and quiet. "They have all the equipment they'll need. Plenty of paperwork." He meant the three sets of identification, if they were found out and needed to run. "She's been a prospect miner for years and he..." Rex paused then gave Chopper his greatest accolade. "He's a surviver."

Ahsoka frowned. It was true that Deena had been surface mining precious stones her entire life… but as a hobby, not as something to support her, to live on. It was true that Chopper was a surviver... but every encounter _damaged_ him, _broke_ him; sometimes physically, sometimes emotionally. She was glad they were no longer fighting; glad for his enforced retirement from rebellion.

"Not him," Ahsoka whispered. "The other one. He dreams of the other one."

For a moment, Rex was blank. "Other one? What other one?"

"The one who helped my partner."

"The..." Rex glanced around and lowered his voice further; inaudible except to her. "..ARC?"

"He thinks he knows who he was, thinks he knew him." Ahsoka gulped down the lump forming in her throat.

"Someone from the old company?"

Slowly Ahsoka nodded. "Someone we though had died."

Rex thought for only a moment and understood who she meant. Because the 501st had only had four ARCs while Chopper had been with them; Echo was the only one they thought dead. Rex closed his eyes in angry disbelief. "No. He's wrong." His voice was sharp, slightly louder. Rex glanced around and lowered his voice again. "He couldn't have survived the explosion."

He turned and headed for the engineer's station then walked back to her, taking the data pad he'd forgotten. Angrily, he bent over her, it might have been intimidating if she'd been a normal person. "It's just bad dreams. You know he's always had bad dreams." His words hissed at her, hissed in self-recrimination.

"I want to believe that, Rex." She reached her hand to touch his cheek. He was so angry; angry at himself for not making sure so long ago on the Citadel though he hadn't had the chance or the choice, angry at what Echo might have faced both as prisoner of the CIS and as prisoner within the Imperial Army, angry at... The Force for not letting her know sooner.

Rex let his breathing relax though the frown remained as her palm caressed his cheek. He dropped a kiss into it. "We'll have to find out." He glanced back at the group, still arguing. "Maybe Senator Organa will be able to find out from Imperial sources what happened at the Citadel after Order 66. We can back track the company that captured your old partner and find out where they are now. Two leads to start."

Ahsoka nodded and he buried his face, just for a moment, into her shoulder. "What he must have faced, 'Soka. What he must face daily." He raised his face. "Perhaps the Kaminoans re..." then shook his head. "No, then he'd be just a trooper again and the report specified 'an ARC'." He straightened, his hand again on her shoulder and this time her lekku brushed against his fingers. "We'll need to tell your old partner; how can we do that without bringing him into scrutiny if we're being watched? Something he can touch and feel. You know how he is."

"Easy enough, love." She reached her hand up, combing into his hair, letting it bury her fingers. "We land someone on Kenderra and send a note through the antiquidated system. It will take days to reach them, but it will reach them."

"What will the note read?" Rex narrowed his eyes. Chopper was his brother and he trusted Chopper... but his responsibility was to make sure no one who'd been under Imperial control was allowed further information about their moves. There were so few of them against the Empire. They had all agreed it was necessary.

She gave a soft laugh as she adjusted the yaw and pitch of the ship. "Sorry we missed your wedding. Had our own and vacationing at Pelpont. The mountains are wonderful and the echo goes on forever."

Rex nodded with a chuckle. "That should tell him everything." He looked again, this time with a worried expression. "And Fives? What do we tell Fives?"

"Nothing, Rex. Because we don't have any information. Nothing... not even whispers really." There were tears in her eyes.

* * *

><p>Writing for Nanowrimo occasionally gives me a taste of writing something different. Here's another little scenario.<p>

As always, read and enjoy. Reviews are always appreciated.


	6. Are

**Are**

"_Shabla mirosik,"_ exclaimed one of the other stormtroopers and Oh-eight raised his head to see what was happening. He glanced up just in time to see R-50 pushed away from CS-30-9575 and stumble, backwards of course, over CT-32-6482's outstretched leg. The men laughed as R-50 landed squarely in the mud. He landed like he'd been trained in hand-to-hand though, not reaching back with his arms that could break his wrists, bending his head forward, letting the force of the push roll him onto his shoulder then relaxing back into a position to return upright. But he didn't stand from where he'd landed and he kept his head down.

"That is the _last_ time, reconditioned waste," The sergeant continued his harangue in a lower voice but Oh-eight still heard most of it though it left him just as confused as ever about what R-50 had actually done. "Pack your gear, _di'kut_. You're out of here." Then the sergeant turned and strode away, purpose in his step. R-50 moved back, away from the squads before he stood. His misery was evident in his posture as he went into the squad tent to follow orders.

Only moments later CS-30-9575 returned; a triumphant sneer on his lips and the captain at his side. They waited at the tent and Oh-eight could hear the mess R-50 was making as he hurriedly stowed his assigned belongings into the duffel; the soft noises of clothing crumpled, the clatter of weapon and belt pouches shoved into the gear bag with no thought of proper procedure, something dropping into the mud and R-50's soft cry of dismay. R-50 was out of the tent, his gear bag bulky with odd protuberances showing it wasn't properly packed. Oh-eight had no doubt there'd be a demerit for that but R-50 had packed out in record time.

Flanked by the sergeant and R-50, the captain turned on his toe and strode purposefully toward where Oh-eight sat at the entry of his small tent. Oh-eight's mouth twisted bitterly as he stood for the captain. The captain stopped in front of him.

"He's yours, ARC Eight." The captain said with a malevolent grin, pushing R-50 toward the entrance.

Loaded down with his gear and his head down, R-50 stumbled in the mud and Oh-eight reached out a hand to steady him. "I'm ARC, captain. I work alone."

"Not anymore, ARC. Not anymore." Captain strode off, chuckling to himself. The sergeant returned to his squad and R-50 simply stood at the entry of the small tent.

His misery and the need for some kind of acceptance radiating off him, he waited for Oh-eight's words. In spite of the fact that Oh-eight had never been harsh with him, R-50 obviously didn't expect the words to be friendly ones. "I can… I can…" He stared down into the churned-up mud avoiding Oh-Eight's face. "I can sleep outside," he finished, his distress evident.

Oh-eight sighed and glanced back into his tent. It was a one-man tent; perfectly sized for an ARC and his gear. He sighed again and reached out for R-50's gear. "Go scrape the mud off, R-50."

He'd make room for the other trooper.

* * *

><p>Oh-eight often caught the captain watching him, simply observing. Watching as if waiting for something.<p>

* * *

><p>They often talked until late. R-50 wasn't nearly as clumsy around the ARC as he had been around the squad. Neither did Oh-eight tease him about being reconditioned. He was patient, helpful, quiet. When R-50 had woken from the unknown nightmares of his prior life, so common to reconditioned clones; Oh-eight had simply calmed him with words. Not angry words, either. Soft words and an occasional hand on his back or the ruffling of fingers through his hair calmed R-50 immeasurably.<p>

The ARC talked with him giving information as he prepped up for some assignment or another. He trusted his gear to R-50's handling.

One night when ARC Oh-eight had to be in position for a morning infiltration, he had invited R-50 to wait with him. Oddly, the captain didn't object.

They'd been sitting in the dark. For once, it was a clear night with none of the constant rain and both men were enjoying the wait. They'd removed their helmets, turning their faces towards the drying breeze. R-50 was staring up at the stars when he noticed that Oh-eight was looking at him. "Sir?" His voice was hesitant, but not fearful. Oh-eight would have something to say, some piece of information for him to know, a story of some experience to share.

"Your new name is Are." Oh-eight said quietly. "Be. Second person singular; present indicative. To be is to exist, to happen, to occupy a position, to belong. Think on those, vod." R-50, no... Are looked up with shock on his face. "Vod?" His voice was tentative and quivery, afraid that Oh-eight might take it all back; the kind words, the name, the appellation 'vod'.

Oh-eight reached out with hand and put his hand on Are's bare neck.

"Vod." He stated.

* * *

><p>Oh eight caught sight of the captain. He wasn't waiting anymore. He had a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes mixed with the hate he reserved for the ARC.<p>

* * *

><p>The barricade of the guerella fighters was shielded and Oh-eight set his helmet binocs back. He nodded. "I'll need some EMP grenades as well as…"<p>

"No, ARC. I'm sending R-50 to take out the shield generator." The captain didn't smile but there was malevolent satisfaction on his face.

Oh-eight stared at the captain suddenly, achingly, aware of why he'd been given Are. It was a way to get rid of an undesirable trooper at the same time the captain could break his insolent ARC.

"R-50 can't do that," Oh-eight objected. "That's an ARC's job." He was right, of course but knew his protest wouldn't matter. Oh-Eight had the training to infiltrate the area, take down the shield generator and return alive; probably without a scratch on his armor. Are wouldn't survive.

Are looked at Oh-eight beseechingly but knew the captain's orders stood; he suddenly understood why as well. He'd only been a tool to get at the ARC. He glanced at Oh-eight where dawning understanding was making his face twist in anger and…pain?

There was a funny, odd feeling in Are's chest and a quandary of questions in his mind. If the captain thought he could break Oh-eight by getting rid of him, didn't that mean he was worth something to the ARC? Did it mean the ARC cared for him? Like a brother should? Had he truly been serious in calling Are vod? Are stood slightly straighter, his broad shoulders back.

"Yes, sir, captain." His voice didn't crack with emotion and he was proud of that; proud he wasn't afraid to die. But that had been Oh-eight's doing; not the captain's and not training.

Oh-Eight turned and took Are by the shoulders, gesturing him towards the boundary of their lines. "Fine, captain, let me give him an overview and some advice." The captain merely snorted; knowing it wouldn't help R-50 survive.

Oh-eight didn't push or pull; he guided, he led; and Are followed his lead to the front line to a covered area from where they could see the shield generator.

Oh-eight pulled off his helmet, tossing it on a box of munitions as they passed it by. Some of the other troopers now were chuckling, suddenly aware of the captain's 'joke'. Oh-eight's face was dark and tight with anger, but somehow Are wasn't afraid. Not of Oh-eight, not of the other troopers or the captain. Not even of the enemy whose lines they faced. He had a name. He had a brother. He _belonged_.

Are removed his helmet and Oh-eight took it from his hands, setting it aside. He put his gauntleted hand on Are's shoulder, stepping in closer.

"You desert, Are," Oh-eight said softly. With his free hand he pointed out the line of guerrilla fighters that had been pushed back from the shield generator. "I will cover you to the shield generator and maybe the company will help but don't count on it. You make that run in a simple evasive pattern and should reach there." He gestured the path Are should take; his fingers pointing from cover to cover, from slick boulder to muddy blast crater. "Once you're almost at the shield generator sling the explosives to their side of the shield generator so it can't be detonated by th sniper. Drop the blaster and run for their lines." Oh-eight gave a small jerk with his hand on Are, as if to emphasize the point. "Run full out, vod, shouting 'surrender' full volume external audio. Run and shout for all you're worth, Are. No evasive pattern, just straight out, straight out to the nearest barricade." He pointed. "From the shield generator, probably that one is the fastest reached. If you break fast enough, you'll surprise the company and they won't get a bead on you until too late. You'll get shot but your armor should take most of the blast. Keep going towards them."

Oh-eight paused as he stared out over the battlefield towards the guerella fighters. "The army has lied to you, Are. There are vod among the rebellious people, Force-users too, I think; in spite of everything we've been told. Tell them what you know, what you think. Offer to show them everything in your armor, disable the electronics failsafe." He chuckled. "That should let them know you're a genuine deserter." His gauntleted hand slid to the curve of Are's neck and, when Are turned to face him questioningly, Oh-eight gently leaned his forehead against Are's. "You've been a good brother, Are. You'll find good brothers there, too."

"What about you," Are gulped and spoke the name Oh-eight had spoken once, had told him was from before the Empire. "Echo? What will you do?"

Oh-eight smiled to hear that familiar name on his brother's lips. "I can't go with you, Are. The captain will send me down next to take out the shield generator; but they'd be prepared, if I tried to desert, with the snipers and probably tank or cannon fire. I'll just have to stay here for a little while longer." He straightened his head and gave a small upward nod at Are, indicating the opposing forces with his chin. "Let them know that the shield generator will be destroyed."

* * *

><p>Are sat, waiting for whoever was going to debrief him, his two guards behind him. He hands were bound, but in front of him instead of more restrictively and uncomfortably at his back. Not so tight, either, that they cut off circulation. He'd been treated fairly as a prisoner. They'd taken his armor, of course, but he told them about the electronics and warned them about the trip-switch, let them know he'd disabled the failsafe. They'd taken him to medical and treated the wounds they had inflicted when he'd run into their lines. They'd even given him painkillers. Some of them even talked to him and, wonder of wonders, they had even fed him. Mostly dry rations for the same reason the troopers had rations – long shelf life, light and easily transportable. But once one of the guards pressed a fresh muja fruit into his bound hands and another time, Ghost had told him to open his mouth. He'd been afraid he was about to be the butt of some horrid joke, but he had opened his mouth. A small piece of something deliciously, meltingly sweet had been placed on his tongue.<p>

They'd pulled him onto the transport when Oh-eight had destroyed the shield generator and he'd been flown away with them, though they covered his eyes. His armor was taken away, but he had told them that the captain could probably trace it. They'd nodded. "We know," said one of the rebels, an older man, battle-worn and life-worn, one of the leaders. "We'll take care of that."

He wasn't afraid anymore, not exactly. Cautious, perhaps, certainly wary, he decided, but not afraid. They'd been kinder than his squad; kinder than anyone since he'd come from Kamino the second time. Kinder than anyone he could remember except Oh-eight; except Echo. So he waited and he told Ghost, one of his guards that he was serious about deserting. He told the other guard also, and everyone he saw. Not angrily as if he had the right to be free, not constantly as if he was afraid they wouldn't believe him, and no one twice. He told them simply so they _knew_.

Are knew Ghost was a code name of some sort; not the guard's real name. It simply was a name the Empire couldn't readily trace, but he'd told Are what to call him and Are had reciprocated with his own name.

"It sounds like a grammatical mistake," mused Ghost. "Hi, I am Are? Just doesn't sound right."

Are had dropped his head. "It had to be that way," he whispered. "I was reconditioned and my designation was R-50 for CT-R-21-5050. If they'd heard him call me anything but my designator, we would have been punished. Me for taking a name and him for acknowledging it."

Ghost listened, nodding thoughtfully. "So you took the letter as the name? And it made a difference?"

Are nodded, sort of pleased that Ghost hadn't said anything about his being reconditioned but wondering if he'd get 'joked' about it later. The squad had joked about it. "He _gave_ me the name. Oh-eight was an ARC and had more training, psychological training. He said a man deserves a name and he wouldn't call me by a number.." Are paused, wondering if Ghost understood the accolade Oh-eight had given him when he'd called Are a 'man', instead of 'clone' or 'trooper' and certainly not the derogatory _mirosik_ or _di'kut_ everyone else had called him before he'd been assigned to the ARC. He wondered if he'd be punished for it later, but Ghost didn't even appear to notice.

Are had already figured out that Ghost was important in the hierarchy of this small rebel cell and a lot more observant than he appeared to be; he had told Ghost everything. "I think he would have liked to desert too, but he said they'd have the sniper, all the troops and maybe even the cannons ready to take him out if he made a wrong move after my desertion."

Ghost gave a grunt and his eyes narrowed. "He must have liked you."

Are smiled. "He called me 'brother' but why do you say that."

"He could have let you die," Ghost watched Are's face carefully, "and deserted instead of you."

* * *

><p>Another drive by musing in the middle of Nanowrimo...<p>

As always; read and enjoy. Reviews always appreaciated.


	7. Traitor

**Traitor**

Oh-eight walked to the captain's tent, his helmet attached to his belt, the duffel slung over his shoulders and rain plastering his gray-streaked hair to his skull. He hadn't taken any care in packing the duffel; R-50 was a deserter, a dead man. Who cared what happened to his belongings?

Oh-eight's lips curled into a silent snarl. _They hadn't even cared what happened to Are._

He liked the rain, it matched his mood and anything to spoil the captain's day was fine by him. Mud always spoiled the captain's day. He liked his boots spit and polish; something difficult to maintain in Hamura's weather even on the best of days.

Three of the sergeants were with the captain, listening or reporting. Two were human, not clone. A squad of troopers was nearby and they were clone. Oh-eight decided it a good time to turn in the gear.

"You're a traitor, ARC-eight," growled the captain as Oh-eight came to the tent's entrance, into the captain's line of sight. "A damnable traitor. I will have you executed for what you did."

Oh-eight shrugged. "If I were a traitor, do you think I'd be sitting here listening to you? What is it you think I did?" He snorted; bitter laughter from deep in his throat threatening to choke him. "Beside take down the shield generator for you?"

"Those were R-50's orders." The captain turned to face his recalcitrant ARC, the sergeants momentarily forgotten.

"He failed. Just like you expected him to fail." Oh-eight glared at the captain's eyes, his own dark with hatred.

"The only reason you didn't desert also was you knew I had the snipers targeting you." The captain sneered. "That would make you a coward, wouldn't it? Afraid to desert even after that … useless waste ran to the other side."

"Canons, too," replied Oh-eight. "Don't forget the cannons. Not your best use of equipment at hand. You could have had the canons targeted to inside the shielding and fired as I took it out." He shrugged. "That would also have taken me out if I intended desertion. Instead you lost valuable time, waiting until I had returned to camp before targeting." Oh-eight laughed, matching the captain's sneer. "You can save your equipment next time and use it for its proper purpose. I have no intention of deserting." He paused. "I doubt that CT-5050 had any inclination of deserting either; until you forced him to do so."

"You are a traitor, ARC eight, and…"

Oh-eight interrupted. "If I was a traitor, I could have deserted at the mountain battle. Or at the plains on the edge of rebel-held Techku where I," he jerked his thumb against his armor, against his chest, "_I_ planted almost 100 frag mines. I could have deserted any night during the last three months when perimeter guards were more concerned with keeping dry than in guarding any perimeter."

The others were watching; the three sergeants quiet and Oh-eight was pleased that at least one of them seemed to be reflecting on the information he was hearing.

"If I were a traitor, captain, you wouldn't know it and, if I planned to desert, I'd be 200 klicks away before you had any idea." Oh-eight's fingers let go of the duffel he'd been holding over his shoulder as he turned back in the direction of his single man tent; perfectly suited for an ARC and his equipment.

The duffel slid down his rain-slicked armor.

He heard the duffel splash against the muddy ground, sending a spray of mud to cover the captain's shiny boots. He heard the mud spatter against the leather. He heard the captain's cuss and words of anger.

Oh-eight smiled grimly.

The captain would think of some punishment and Oh-eight needed it; needed something to keep him from dreaming, needed something to remind him that this was war, needed something to remind him that you couldn't have friends.

Friends only betrayed you by leaving you behind.

_It would have been his death_, said a tiny portion of his mind, _you ordered him to desert._

Oh-eight was glad for the rain. No one asked him about the droplets running down his face.

* * *

><p>Wow, musing was short, stark and hard today.<p>

As always, read and enjoy…


	8. Are II

**Are II**

Kix moved cautiously, leaning heavily on his cane and gritting his teeth; not against pain but against the indignity. He sighed as he realized his own stubbornness. Medically, he'd have anyone with his wounds on crutches permanently but since he was in charge, he could ignore his own diagnosis. Treading carefully, Kix had no trouble in buildings, but rocky, muddy ground was trouble. He'd slipped outside, one knee of his breeches wet and dark with mud. He would need to clean the joints of the leg brace. He would have fallen completely if one of Ghost's fighters hadn't grabbed his arm and supported his weight against her hip. Kix had reddened, ashamed of his weakness, but they hadn't said anything, too use to pain and loss for any jest at a war wound.

He sat with relief. There was no feeling in his leg, but the rest of him ached in compensation for his uneven gait. He rolled his shoulders. Ghost sat across from him and nodded to the fighter to bring them caf and then give them privacy. She had grabbed some cloth towels on the way into the mess and pressed them into Kix's hand as he sat. He smiled absently at her, thanking her when she brought the coffee then turned his attention back to Ghost.

Both Rex and Fives wished for more men like Ghost. Tough, pragmatic, yet never losing sight of what he was fighting for; he was a good fighter and a thoughtful leader. There were some rebellious cells that surpassed the worst stormtroopers in cruelty. Ahsoka said it was usually manifested pain but it wasn't usefu. It was even counterproductive in dealing with peoples whose planets hadn't been invaded by the Imperial Stormtroopers; the Empire could point at the 'atrocities' commited as reason for invasion.

Kix set his cane against his good leg, unfastened and opened his coat then spent a few moments wiping the mud from the support brace that ran from above his knee to his booted foot.

"Here, Kix." Ghost pushed the mug of caf a little closer. "How are things going in your part of the galaxy?"

Kix gave up cleaning any more mud from the joints of the brace and set the dirty towels on the bench next to him. He curled one hand around the mug, the other relaxing on the table in front of him. "Promising, Ghost. Recently some important people got together and are working on a coalition; planetary governments-backing rebellion." He took a sip of the hot liquid and exhaled generously. "Perhaps we can solidify the strings of this rebellion into a rope with which to hang Palpatine."

Ghost nodded slowly. He didn't need to know names. "That would be… good. Would rebel cells be able to ask for help from a centralized force? I've had offers from mercenaries, pirates, bounty hunters, but all at a price too high."

"Ultimately, yes," Kix replied, "once it exists."

Ghost sighed and bent his head over his caf. "I don't know how much longer…"

"Until then, Ghost, Rex has sent you as much help as he can. He's moved some resources from other areas. They're already on the way; two thousand fighters, transports, couple of gunships." Kix held out his hand, palms up offering the gift as he continued speaking. "Cannons, blaster packs, support personnel…"

Ghost was still, immobile, unable to breathe. Then he blinked several times as he noticed Kix's slow-forming smile.

"Rex and the others think this a pivotal time, Hamura a pivotal planet."

Ghost nodded, his caf forgotten. "Thank him for us, Kix. Thank them all. It will give us a chance." He looked over the mess where some of his ragged teams, hard and efficient, were taking a few, rare moments of rest. "How soon can we expect them?"

Kix gave a sharp nod. "The first within 24 hours, all by the end of the week."

Ghost's eyes widened in surprise. "So soon? Is their commander a reasonable man?" Ghost folded his hands together. For his people, for his planet, he could follow another man so long as he was even half-way competent.

Kix shrugged, taking another gulp of caf. "I've found him open to new plans, innovative, willing to listen, but always with an eye towards the ultimate goal."

"How well does he know Hamura's people? The wildlife?" Ghost gave a slight grin and gestured toward the doorway where several hanging coat were dripping. "The weather?"

Kix gave a laugh. "It's you, Ghost. As soon as they hit the atmosphere; you're their new commander. A couple of the higher ranks weren't pleased about it and you'll have to win them over, but even at first you'll have their cooperation abet grudging. I know you'll manage. Rex will be here for a short time as well. He'll act as your second."

Ghost nodded, his eyes ablaze with plans he could now put into operation.

"Have you got anything for me?" Kix asked, taking a gulp of his now-cooler caf, smiling after a moment of watching Ghost think.

Ghost nodded. "A deserter."

Kix stiffened. "A… clone?" His voice was soft. There were a lot of deserters from the Imperial Army but so few of them were clones who had no real place to go, no place called 'home' once they deserted; men who were strangers everywhere. It was why clone stormtroopers were usually used in more populous areas while non-clones were used in areas difficult to leave. Ghost nodded.

"He's remarkably forthcoming. Says his captain sent him out to destroy the shield generator and…"

"That's ARC training," Kix nodded. "We received a report of an ARC…"

"He's not an ARC, Kix." Ghost shook his head and gave a soft snort. "I'm surprised the Imperials had him out in the field. He's a nice guy, wanting to please, but there's something off about him." Ghost paused, considering. "Physically, he seems a little younger than you. Mentally, emotionally, I'd call him a good kid who needs some seasoning. He said it's because he was reconditioned." Ghost noted Kix's pained expression. "The ARC told him to desert when the captain ordered him, essentially, to die."

"I'd like to interview him," Kix frowned. He'd read Chopper's report about the ARC. "But what do you have planned for him?"

Some clones integrated with the local population; Boil of the 212th had taken his daughter from Ryloth and settled on Tatooine. Sinker was a navigator on a transport based on some nowhere planet away from all the major runs. Both men had been cautious to see another clone, cordial once they realized he was a deserter, glad to hear others had deserted and refused to get involved in any way with rebellion.

"I hadn't gotten that far, Kix." Ghost leaned back, finished his caf, and tapped his fingers on the table. "We've been slowly retreating and splitting up since they destroyed that camp. That was our last big shield generator. Our deserter's been content to do as we say, stay in binders though he does ask for two exercise periods each day. He's very good at hand-to-hand combat. Doesn't ask too many questions, doesn't even try to look anywhere he might see something important." Ghost laughed at some private memory. "He gave us his armor and disabled the failsafe before he made his run then told us about the trip-safe that would burn out the electronics. The armor is intact."

Kix's eyebrow rose high. "That's good. Most of the troopers don't even know how valuable those electronics are to us."

"That," pointed out Ghost, "was the ARC's doing."

Kix understood the implications of that immediately. "The ARC is, at least, sympathetic to rebellion." He sucked in his cheeks. "What happened to the ARC?"

"He took down the shield generator and we had to retreat." Ghost shrugged. "If that's being sympathetic, I'd hate to see him go all out. Two men like him and I probably wouldn't need your men…" Ghost rubbed his temples with his hands.

"Sorry, Ghost. No ARCs in your batch." Kix smiled wistfully, for good times past. "The ARCs were trained that way. Common wisdom was 'give an ARC the order and he'll take over a planet'. There's rumor of a sympathetic ARC; we're trying to trace him," he shrugged. "But Imperial troop moments aren't always available to us even after the fact." He finished his caf and put his hand to his cane. "Can I interview the deserter now?"

Ghost nodded and rose. Kix, careful of his leg on the damp floor, was slower. Ghost matched his steps to Kix, leading him to the cell. Sometimes he thought Ghost brought him to the mess first simply so he could rest the leg. Then again the mess was always the closest to the landing ground.

"I had Gunner interview him earlier." Ghost was saying as they walked the corridor. "We got a lot of good local information; Gunner had to only mentioned something and if Are knew the information, it was ours. Once or twice he asked Gunner 'Aren't you going to ask about that' or 'you haven't asked about this yet'." Ghost chuckled. "Every prisoner should be so forthright. We aren't as sure about his Imperial army or state of the galaxy information. But he told us when he wasn't sure how right he was."

"Are? That's an unusual name."

"He was very specific. It's Are from 'to be' and not the letter. Something about being punished for having a name. He said it was designation as well as his name." Ghost opened a door. There was a small room with a table in the center, two chair's and a mirror plated window. It was obviously an interview room. One of the chairs had a link for binders.

Kix nodded his understanding as he leaned against the doorjamb. "Clones don't have names," he said bitterly. "Not like under the Republic." He sighed. "It's bad when the 'good old days' included Ventress, Grievous and countless droids out to kill us." He looked at the chair. "When you bring him in, take the binders off of him. Send the other guard for a chair for yourself about and join us." Ghost nodded, turned and strode down the corridor.

Kix settled himself in the small interview room and slid his cane out of view. He pulled off his coat and set it next to him, running his fingers over the nerf-hide leather with a smile. It had been a gift from Ahsoka and Rex. Every clone deserved a brother like Rex, a sister like Ahsoka.

Ghost and another of his fighters, the woman who'd caught Kix's arm, brought in the deserter clone. He had his head turned to Ghost, saying something, as they came into the door.

"I just remembered and though it might be useful."

Ghost nodded and reached for Are's hands, slipping off the binders. Are smiled slightly and turned to his new interviewer.

Ghost shot a glance at Kix with a wry grin. That must have been more slightly useful information.

Obviously, they hadn't told Are that there were clones involved in rebellion as well. The deserter stopped in mid-stride, his lower lip trembling, at the sight of Kix. Then he swallowed. "He said there was a _vod_ but… but," he shook his head in disbelief and there were suddenly tears in his eyes. "I didn't know it was true," he whispered softly and had started moving toward Kix.

"Are, in this chair." Ghost pointed at the one across the table from Kix as he brought in a chair and set it at one of the short ends of the table.

"Yes, Ghost," he turned toward Kix taking the chair indicated. "I'm sorry, I'm just…" He paused, his fingers on the back of the armless chair. "The captain and the Kaminoans said that no trooper was disloyal, that there weren't any deserters. I never really hoped to meet you."

"_Vode_, Are. Not the singular _vod_. _Vode_. There are brothers in this rebellion." Kix observed tears form in the corners of Are's eyes, his lips pressed tightly together then begin to quiver.

"Can I come with you?" Are's voice was quiet, emotion making him whisper. He turned back to Ghost. "No offense to you, Ghost, or your people," then he turned his hopeful expression back to Kix. "But I want to be with _vode_, with brothers." He looked at his feet. "I've been reconditioned. I'm no good as a tro… No good as a fighter, but Oh-eight said I'd make a good second." Are swallowed and looked into Kix's face. "I took care of his equipment; he trusted me that way." He looked at Kix with sorrowing eyes. "I'd be the weak man in the squad, but I wouldn't mind. I'm not too clumsy if they don't yell at me." His palms were flat on the table as he looked down, seeming to study the grain of the wood. "Every squad could use a good second; someone to take care of the gear."

"Oh-eight," Kix's face twisted in thought. That designation seemed… familiar. "Tell me about Oh-eight."

Are nodded, understanding they'd want to know more of the trooper who had trusted him. Then they could judge him in relation to the ARC he had served. "Captain called him ARC eight. Captain hates him, that's why he sent me out to die; because I was Oh-eight's second." Are bit his lower lip. "He… he had a name once. When he was GAR. He told me and I called him by name before I deserted."

Kix remembered and leaned back. "Echo," he closed his eyes and the only sound was his breathing. "CT-ARC-21-0408. Echo."

Are looked up into Ghost's face and nodded, then back to Kix. "Yes, sir. He called himself Echo."

"We thought he died at the Citadel." Kix shook his head in disbelief and put one palm to his forehead and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "Ahh, _fierfek_."

It wasn't much of an interview beyond Are's information of Echo. Are only knew Echo's doings since he'd become the ARC's second man though he was aware of what he'd been ordered previously, in a general sense. "He doesn't talk about the past, sir. Doesn't give his opinion about anything expect plans. He lets the captain know what he thinks of the captain's plans." A quick, tenuous smile crossed Are's lips then vanished. "Usually isn't good. The captain thinks big and when he goes over his plans; Oh-eight rips them apart."

Kix chuckled. "Echo always was good at details."

"It makes for tighter plans in the end but Oh-eight isn't really,' Are tilted his head and shrugged his shoulders simultaneous, "diplomatic." Are quieted then, looking down at the floor. "He gave me his chance to escape." He looked up at Kix with stricken eyes. "After my desertion, captain had snipers on him; expecting him to try. If I hadn't tried, he could have made it. You'd have a much better man than me."

"No," Kix shook his head. "It's a harder problem than that. You don't have to worry that he gave you his only chance to escape, Are. ARCs do solitary assignments, insertions, infiltrations on a regular basis. Echo did those, didn't he?"

Are glanced around as if he expected the captain to show up and punish him for acknowledging a name. 'Yes, sir. He preferred those assignments. He never said why, but I thought it might be because he didn't have to answer directly to the captain then."

"Maybe, Are. But he could have deserted on any of those assignments." Kix paused.

"Why didn't he?" Ghost asked, the only one of the three who might meet the ARC in battle. Are, across the table from Kix, was respectfully silent.

Kix shook his head as he reached for his coat and pulled it on. "I don't know, Ghost. First thing after the Citadel, he would check to see if his brother had died and Echo had," he suddenly remembered he was talking about a living man. "Has a way with information. He'd find out his brother had deserted." He sighed deeply. "If the opportunity is there, Ghost, we'd love to have him back. Not just because he's an ARC but because he's family. If you can, let him know we..." Kix spread his hands apart helpless. "Miss him? Didn't realize he was alive? Want him back?"

Ghost nodded, "If I can."

"That might not be possible, Ghost, and I'll make sure we're all aware of that." Kix reached for his cane and stood, leaning hard. He glanced at Are's eyes, wide with surprise. "We don't terminate men, Are. Just because they're wounded; just because they can't fight anymore."

"I wasn't thinking that, sir." Are spoke quietly. "I was thinking you could use a second; a runner." He swallowed. "You haven't made a decision about taking me; but I'd serve you quite happily, sir. If you'll give me the chance."

Kix and Ghost shared a glance and small, tight smiles.

"I will have to talk it over with our security but I'd be honored, Are," Kix spoke, "to have the man who seconded Echo, second me as well."

* * *

><p>I was planning on working on 'Scars' but Chopper was ensconced quite happily with Riyo. "No, no," he said. "Go work with Echo or Hevy or finish 'Haruu'. I'm fine with waiting. Go do something new, but for <em>kriff's<em> sake, leave us alone." If Chopper had any say, he'd end 'Scars' right where he's at, but I've already written most of Geonosis II and much of Order 66 for him. I'll give him a respite for a while though.

'Confinement and Escape' continue intermittently, as the muse strikes. 'Rishi'… *sigh* … maybe soon. Hevy and Asajj are not easy characters to write.

In the meantime, read and enjoy.

reulte


	9. Are III

**Are III**

Are stood at stark attention in front of the clone with golden hair. There was no doubt in his mind that here was a clone born and trained to command. It was easy to see him in the armor of a trooper even though he was wearing civilian clothes. Are knew he was the pilot of this freighter and important; he had seconded Ghost when the reinforcements had helped push back the Imperial troops. There were worn areas on his pants. Though his shirt was new, the cloth-quilted vest was faded and the thick coat had seen heavy use. He still wore trooper boots, though Are could see from the flattened ridges they'd need to be replaced soon.

"I don't know, Kix," he was saying reasonably as the three of them stood in the cargo hold of the small freighter. At a distance, just under the ship's tail protecting her from the cold rain the co-pilot, a small Togruta woman, was checking inventory against a flimsi-chart but she had no part in the conversation. Are tried to listen for nuance in the pilot's voice.

"How do we know he isn't reconditioned to betray us?"

Kix sighed. Are knew it was mostly pain from standing and leaning hard against his cane. There couldn't be that much frustration even though he'd been speaking with the other clone for a while. He had told Are earlier that Are probably wouldn't be able to go with him. Are was a little surprised Kix hadn't already given up trying to convince Rex and returned to the comfort of wherever he berthed on the small ship. Kix knew Are had a place to stay. Before they'd come aboard, Ghost had grabbed Are's hand and spoken kind words. "You'd be welcome with us, Are. Anytime." Are had straightened at the offer. "Thank you, Ghost," he had replied softly. "Thank you." But they all knew he wanted to go with Kix.

"They can't brainwash and recondition everyone, Rex. Are's chances were zero without Echo." Kix glanced at Are with a small apologetic nod. "It looks like they did a total personality wipe as well as a clean reprogramming."

Rex looked with interest at the clone in stiff attention. "So any personality he currently has is what he's developed since Kamino?"

Kix nodded as he shifted; as though the tight muscles of his shoulders were beginning to spasm.

Are hadn't thought of personality. He thought the way he was was because of… the way he was. His brows came down as he remembered how badly he had - or rather hadn't fit in when he'd come out of reconditioning and been assigned to a company. He'd been scared, terrified of everything. He tilted his head slightly as he questioned his own mind. Wouldn't a clean wipe, including personality mean he couldn't be an Imperial agent? Are shifted his shoulders back in something like pride. He'd been helpful the past few days since reinforcements had arrived and not just to Kix. Ghost had clapped him on the shoulder with approving words. Even his original second in command, a female and a good fighter in hand to hand combat, had given Are a quick hug when the Imperial forces had retreated back to their transports. He'd been shocked into immobility, but apparently he didn't have to reciprocate in any way. She had release him and moved on to hug a tiredly jubilant Kix. Kix had hugged back and Are knew now what to do if he was ever hugged again. Hug back. Was that personality? Growing more experienced?

Rex's voice cut through his reverie. "But he did survive and he is here, Kix. Being reconditioned makes him that much more suspect." Rex turned his attention from Are back to Kix, gesturing at him with a finger. "You're the one who pointed that out. We got rid of Chopper for being in Imperial custody for less than a day." He glanced again at Are and Are tightened, bringing his attention from the frightened, reconditioned shiny he'd once been to where he was now. Even if he wasn't sure what would happen to him.

Rex turned, still speaking to Kix, but his words were softer and less audible. Kix's voice came almost sharply. "Chopper wanted to go but wouldn't have left his partner without good reason. We _gave_ him the reason. You know that."

Are watched Kix, quieting small twitches as he kept still even while wanting to go to Kix's aid. What he had been was no more and his future was held in the hands of the rebel pilot of this freighter who'd once been a command-level clone trooper.

Are swallowed the lump developing in his throat. It was kind of Kix to want him around. He could work with Kix; he'd been a good second to Echo and he had been and would be a good second and runner for Kix as well.

Are caught Rex's eyes and flicked his own toward an unnoticed bench by the door. Rex's eyes saw the bench, lazily came back to Are's mirrored brown then flicked to Kix as he spoke again; ignoring Are's unspoken request.

Didn't Rex see Kix's discomfort? Of course, he did, but did he _care_? Are had met so many clones who didn't _care_. Echo had cared; Echo had shown Are that care made fear and so many other bad feelings fade to nothing.

Kix was shivering in the cargo hold, open to the cold, wet wind and Are wanted to drape something warm around his shoulders. He had just taken off his nerf-hide coat as they entered the ship's cabin when the Togrutan co-pilot had asked them to go to the cargo hold. The endurance of a clone trooper was worn away by Kix's long-term injury, by the work he'd been doing for the past couple weeks, even before Are. Are had been some help, but there'd been a lot that Kix hadn't let him participate in. Are had understood, Kix had his orders as well.

Occasionally he'd heard them speaking of other _vode_ and Are's heart ached to know that more of his brothers had escaped. He hadn't meant to listen, tried not to listen, but they spoke reasonably open and Are had considered their words to each other carefully. Fives and Cut were other brothers with them; Cut had a family. They hadn't talked much about Fives, grimacing or shaking their heads when his name was mentioned but he was apparently ARC-trained and important in the rebellion. Chopper, also, had family but Are wasn't sure what had happened to Chopper; what 'getting rid of' meant in this context. Kix had said they didn't get rid of clones for injuries, but maybe they did for what had happened to Chopper. He heard them mention other names, names so very common to clones, and he wondered if these were brothers also.

Are pulled his eyes toward Kix. His bad leg trembled, the ankle turned inwards, as he spoke to the captain-pilot. Already Are knew the inward-turned ankle wasn't good for Kix; too often it cause his leg to slip and, with the partial paralysis, Kix couldn't feel when his leg turned wrong, couldn't correct his stance. Are was moving as he thought about it. He's stay as much as he could with Kix; going when they told him to leave, returning when he could. He grabbed Kix's arm.

"Lean on me, Kix. Your leg is about to slip. Sir," he turned his face to Rex. "If you'll get something for him to sit on, I'll leave so you and Kix can discuss…where to send me." His lips trembled slightly, but only slightly. If he couldn't second Kix then surely they would at least send him to _vode_; perhaps to this Cut with family.

Rex pulled off his coat and pushed it over Kix's shoulders before moving toward the door to get the workman's bench. "_Di'kut_," he murmured affectionately to the other as his hands smoothed the coat down Kix's arms. "You've proved him."

Kix smiled wanly at Are as he leaned into him, letting Are take the weight of his body. Rex brought back the workman's bench. He observed Are as Are settled Kix in it, pulling the warmth of the coat just a little more snugly over his shoulder. Are knelt at Kix's side, his fingers going over the brace as he started loosening the buckles. "You've been wearing the brace for at least two days straight, Kix. You need to remove it and give your leg some down time."

"You need to go back on crutches, don't you Kix?" The golden-haired clone touched Are on the shoulder lightly to stop his fingers on the brace. "Take him to his quarters, take off the brace and make sure he stays in bed or a chair for the next day and takes some anodyne. Make sure he uses the crutches instead of the cane for the next tenday."

"Rex," began Kix in argument.

Rex looked at Are as he overrode Kix's words. "If you can't keep him on the crutches, then you're no good as his second."

"Yes, sir." Are saluted, only later realizing that he'd passed whatever test they'd set for him.


	10. Braid

**Braid**

**Oh-eight - Retreat from Hamura**

It was a reasonably ordered retreat. Oh-eight thought of several possible counters to the rebel attacks, but the captain didn't ask for his opinion. Oh-eight had done his best to keep a look for any deserter clones when he realized the Hamuran's had gotten reinforcements but he didn't see any. He might have stayed on the planet, 'accidently' been left-behind and sought out Are, but the captain was there yelling them into the gunship.

Oh-eight gazed down at the white-shrouded planet as the transport bucked and twisted away from incoming rebel starfighters. The rebels were backed by, not one, but two destroyers. He twisted his head, but the helmet was a bother, so he quickly removed it to press closer to the glassteel panel. The trooper between him and the panel moved quickly out of his way and Oh-eight grunted something between thanks and acknowledgement. One of the destroyers looked Mon Calimar the other… he narrowed his eyes. Corellian? Maybe? Did that indicate a coalition?

His eyes drifted away from the frenzied battle. There was something pristine about space. Oh-eight sometimes wished he was a pilot. He remembered a long time ago, perhaps four years back. Before the Imperial Army. Before the Citadel. When they'd been clonetroopers instead of stormtroopers, when they'd been on the _Resolute_. Him and… his mind ran through names, stuttering over only one. It had been after battle and they were jet packing over the free-floating battlefield detritus searching for two starfighters. They found them too. A live Broadside in a dead ship and Giz peacefully frozen, his fighter shot through with a dozen penetrations but not a scratch on his body.

They'd found something – or someone – else also. An odd black and white furred creature even the medical droid couldn't identify, tucked in what could only be an evacuation capsule because there were no controls. It looked as though it had been peacefully asleep only moments although by the pitting of the capsule the droid estimated it had been frozen nearly a quarter million years. That couldn't be too bad to die like that, could it? To float forever between stars and suns and galaxies? To look as if a hand on your shoulder or a loud noise might wake you?

Oh-eight's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of one of the rebel fighters. It was moving fast, a white streak trimmed with royal blue, followed by two of the Imperial fighters. The colors of the 501st had caught his attention. Another rebel broke off to assist but was quickly forced back to the general melee. Another Imperial starfighter joined the chase. One of the troopers next to Oh-eight gave a short laugh.

"They've got him now." There was a general agreement among the others but Oh-eight softly shook his head.

"I don't think so," he murmured slowly as he wondered when he'd seen that maneuver before. "The rebel fighter is going to…" He shut his lips and stood straight in the gunship. For his own sake and peace of mind he hoped they took out the little rebel ship. For the sake of everything else he hoped the rebel fighter eluded the pursuers.

A fourth Imperial fighter came at the ship from an oblique angle, blaster fire so close to the rebel, Oh-eight was sure it left a streak of burnt black on the white fighter. There was a collective gasp from the troopers viewing.

"Care to wager, ARC eight?" The captain stared at him.

"No." Oh-eight turned back to the fight, a spectator to the dizzying spiral of the starfighters as their own transport waited for entry clearance and eluded stray blaster rounds.

He'd seen General Skywalker tease up to eight vultures into chasing him then pick them off by flipping upside down or by spiraling them around one of the larger ships in tighter and tighter spirals until they hit an antenna or some other barely-noticeable protuberance and, knocked off-balanced, careened double-destructively into the larger ship.

"It's a wager then," said the captain, ignoring his words. "You're backing the rebel."

"I like the colors," Oh-eight said softly, remembering when he'd been someone else. "My armor used to…" He let the words fade as another Imperial craft took up the chase. Five must have been this pilot's limit. The little craft began the long, swift spiral around the Imperial destroyer. Oh-eight could hear other wagers being made but his eyes and mind were on the little craft, streaking and twisting through the multiple dimensions of space. Then he turned away, shoved his helmet viciously over his head and moved away from the panel.

He didn't care who won. He'd lost either way.

* * *

><p><strong>Are - Home<strong>

Even wrapped in Rex's heavy coat, Kix was shivering by the time Are and Rex got him to the main cabin.

"I'll be fine," he was saying. "It's just a chill and I'll get warm under blankets."

"You get the brace off him, get him in bed and covered," Rex ordered Are. Then he turned to Kix and spoke more gently. "You don't have endurance anymore, Kix. I don't want that chill to become anything else. Anything worse."

Kix nodded, too obviously exhausted to argue.

"I'll get his coat from the back." Rex let the weight he'd been carrying slide onto Are's shoulder. There was a moment's pause then Rex, seeing Are knew how to take the weight off Kix's bad leg, continued speaking. "He likes sleeping with it as well."

"Fine, Rex. Tell all my secrets," muttered Kix. "And don't forget my cane."

"I didn't leave it next to the cargo hold door by accident, Kix." Are spoke shyly. There was a moment's stillness then Rex roared his laughter and clapped Are on the shoulder.

"You'll be in good hands, Kix." His grin was tight but genuine. "We'll be underway within a quarter day, Are. I'll make sure you get some food shortly but I have to talk with Ghost before we're gone from Hamura."

Kix grumbled until he reached the room. It was a small room with an attached refresher. There was a table, flimsis neatly stacked on a corner, and two chairs, one like Are had never seen before – padded and made for relaxing with a rest for the legs. It was close to the door and he started to guide Kix to it.

"No, Are." Kix corrected and gestured toward the bed. "I'll need the bed and as soon as I'm down…" He took a deep breath. "As soon as I'm down I won't be able to get up."

So Are, his arm around Kix, mostly carried him to the bed. It was larger than two troopers' racks combined and Are stared at it for a moment. Then he gently helped Kix to sit on its edge and pulled a blanket, fine and luxurious, over his shivering shoulders.

"Anodyne, first." Kix's voice was regretfully somber and darkly sardonic. "I'll need it."

Are found the medical supplies where Kix directed and he thought he knew this was Kix's regular room not simply a makeshift place for him on someone's ship. "Is this your home, Kix?"

Kix was thoughtful for a moment then he snorted. "As much as anyplace, I guess. I've spent a lot of time here."

Are nodded as he handed Kix the pain-killer and water. His fingers moved along the brace and undid all the buckles and straps.

"Check me, Kix," he asked and Kix did, making sure everything was loose before letting Are remove the apparatus of straps and metal. The breath that came from his lips was almost a soft cry and Are was glad Kix had remembered the anodyne first.

_That will be my task from now on. _Are decided.

"Does it always hurt?" Are held the brace in one hand as he stood, his other hand supporting Kix with a light palm on his back.

Kix didn't answer the question but he held on to Are's arm as he slowly laid back. "Gently, Are. Gently lift my leg to the bed."

"I was hoping to get your clothes off, too, Kix."

Kix gave a short laugh and Are blushed at the implication. "I mean, your clothes are at least two days dirty and maybe you could use a bit of cleaning. I didn't mean…" He lost words.

There'd been some troopers at camp, when he'd just arrived, who'd shared the warmth of his body, making him touch them in sexual ways. Are hadn't really enjoyed it. The illusion of being liked during the night had not really been worth the price paid. He had only wished they'd been so kind in the day; maybe then it would have been worthwhile.

Kix nodded, his hand still on Are's, but he sat up again and quickly pulled off the vest and the sweater. Under that was a soft grey shirt with some black thread decoration at the wrist and neckline; beneath that was a worn trooper glove. Are took those from him and set them on the relaxing chair after making sure the blanket was around Kix's chest. He'd find out where they belonged and put them up later. Kix's ribs were evident and he seemed a bit thin to Are's eyes.

Kix's hands moved to his waist and he unfastened his outer trousers. Are was unsurprised to see the bottom half of a body glove.

"I'll need help for this part, Are." Kix said wearily.

Are gave a single nod. "I know. You tell me what to do; best way Kix. No hurry."

It was simple and surprisingly intimate. Kix laid back and Are gently teased the trousers down his legs, Kix's long, strong fingers guiding Are then pulling away as Are's hands moved further out of reach. Are then rolled the body glove material down in the same fashion, Kix's hands resting lightly on his. As Are finished pulling each part of the trouser he made sure to cover more of Kix with the blanket.

A massive bundle of scar tissue curled around Kix's waist; from just in front of his hip bone around his waist to his back. Though some of the muscles of his bad leg had withered, there were no scars on his leg.

Kix yawned, the anodyne taking effect, as he gestured at the scarred mass. "SCI. Spinal cord injury, partial lateral lesion." His eyes were mostly closed. "I'd really appreciate not being cleaned as if I were helpless." He yawned again. "I'm not."

"We'll wait then, Kix." Are told the sleeping man.

There was a soft knock on the door as Are was folding the clothes and Are opened it.

It was the Togrutan co-pilot. She was as young as Are had thought, but she moved with quiet self-assurance as she entered the room and set the tray of food on the table. She smiled as Are's eyes grew big. "Since you're awake, I guess you get first choice."

The coat draped over her arm, she took to the bed and tucked it around Kix, pressing the hood near the side of his head. Even in sleep, his fingers clutched at the leather and fur.

"I'll wait for Kix," Are began, but she chuckled.

"You'll starve before he wakes up. Here." She grabbed something and pressed it into his hand then grabbed one for herself and took a large bite from one end. Emboldened by her example Are took a bit and hunger immediately slammed to the forefront of his perceptions.

"Nerf steak slices and bithbean rollup with aeoli spread." She said, covering her chewing mouth with a hand. "Rex's favorite." She swallowed. "Kix's too, for that matter."

"Mmm, mmmf. Mmmne foo." Are replied as he tapped himself on the chest then swallowed the half-chewed bite of something delicious. "Mine too."

She smiled at him and took a second rollup, Are tentatively reached out to claim another. She nodded as she chewed then swallowed. "I'm Ahsoka Lawquane. You're probably famished, I'll leave the rest for you and Kix." She pointed to a small closet. "I don't know if you've had time to explore, but there's a small conservor in there." She glanced at Kix. "How is he doing?" She looked at Are with clear blue eyes. "How did you do?"

"I must have done ok," admitted Are around the mouthful of food. "He was almost asleep before I got the pants down his knees. I was going to clean him but he asked not."

"Well," her lips twisted and Are was afraid for a moment she was angry with him then realized it was worry. "Sleep is more important for now, but when he wakes up do try to get food down him." She continued frowning at the sleeping man and gestured at a covered dish on the tray. "Even if it's just the soup. Cleanliness can wait."

"He doesn't eat enough," said Are in question as his brows drew down. "I thought he looked less muscular but I didn't know for sure." He paused. "There was only Kamino and Hamura for comparison."

"No," the woman whispered. "Not nearly enough. But it's because he hurts so much." She looked into Are's eyes with her own; hers were pools of blue like the sky and he realized he'd never seen eyes that color. Then he ducked his head.

"Leave him his dignity, Are. As much as possible but not at the cost of his health." Her hand touched the sleeping man, her fingers ruffled through his hair. "It's getting long," she murmured absently. "Touch him, Are. As much as you can. Scrubbing his back – there's a chair for him in the shower and he hates it but make him use it." Are nodded at the command and she continued, sitting on the edge of the bed next to the sleeping Kix. "Even just touching his shoulders; a massage or a hug. He needs it."

Are nodded. "Food and touch. Yes, sir. I can do that." He frowned. "A hug leads to sex doesn't it? I can," he paused then continued after a thought. "I can do that."

"Not always, Are." She shook her head. "Kix won't make that assumption. He won't ask anything of that nature from you." From the look on her face, Are suspected there might be more to know and understand.

Are nodded with a swallow. "I didn't like sex with my brothers." He said it as if ashamed, as if he owed his brothers compliance because he wasn't as good as them.

She touched his face lightly with her hand, her fingers against his cheek. "I don't think any of your brothers treated you with kindness."

"Oh-eight did. I mean Echo. He didn't make me do anything like that." Are looked down at her then sat softly next to her on the edge of the bed. "But I think," he began slowly, "that I wouldn't have minded if he had. Sometimes when I had nightmares, he'd rub my back or my hair." He gestured to her fingers caressing Kix. "Once he hugged me next to him all night because I'd been crying. I reached to…" Are paused, deep in memory. "But he just said no, he wanted to hold me so I would be warm and sleep." Are sighed deeply. "Maybe he was just tired and needed me to be quiet so he could sleep."

The ghost of a smile flickered across her lips. "Not Echo. He held you for comfort. Yours. Probably his as well."

"How do you know?" Are didn't doubt that she knew.

"Echo could sleep through anything." She wiped at the dampness threatening to fall down her cheeks.

Are nodded and tentatively touched her face liked she'd touched his. She didn't jerk or push his hand away.

"Can I ask a question?" Are drew his hand back to his side.

"You want to know why we decided to accept that you're not a spy?"

Are nodded slowly. "I was thinking it's because I don't have a personality."

"You have one, Are. A very nice personality from what I can tell so far." She paused. "Kix says they didn't flash one into you, but a personality develops in reaction to what we've been exposed to. You're just young and unsure. Everyone is unsure when they're young."

Are gave her a hesitant smile and straightened as he sat listening to her.

"To answer your question; someone flash-drilled wouldn't think about anything that might jeopardize the mission. Rex and Kix kept letting you believe you wouldn't be able to stay. An infiltrator would not have gone to Kix's aid in the interview. That was the price Kix bargained for with Rex. If he fell, then you'd been flash-drilled to disregard anything not mission-critical and were a spy. You disregarded everything in favor of making sure Kix wasn't injured further; making sure he was comfortable." She spread her russet-hued hands palms up. "Does that answer your question?"

He nodded but frowned slightly and she tilted her head waiting for his words.

"Does this mean I belong here?" The furrows in his brow deepened and he tried to hide his hope. "Does this mean I'm _home_?"

"If you want, Are." Ahsoka replied quietly. "Ultimately that will be your decision. For now, I'd say yes."

He nodded, speechless, but his Force aura glowed with happiness.

* * *

><p><strong>Fives - Assignment on Aldaraan<strong>

There was a tentative knock, almost inaudible, at the heavy wooden door and Fives wondered if it was Celly returning for several of the garments of an intimate nature she'd left behind. Fives smiled as he rose from the massive bed and pulled a robe over his lean frame. She was round faced, like her sister-in-law and distant cousin, the Queen of Aldaraan, but rounder and softer in form. After all the deprivations and hardship Fives had seen, after the hardened bodies and harder faces of women fighters, her giggling plumpness was a delight to his flesh. He'd been instantly attracted and she had tilted her eyes flirtingly in his direction.

He moved silently, by habit, with a warming smile on his face. He had escorted her to one of the large balcony gardens and, after a banquet of kisses, she had suggested a more intimate place and a more vigorous activity.

Unlike most of the participants of the dinner party, she knew he was not a 'distant cousin' of Bail Organa but Celly was the least politically astute and most intelligent of Bail's sisters. She knew what she didn't want to know. When she'd seen the large scar on his shoulder, the other, smaller scars on his body, her fingers had brushed against them softly and her lips had kissed them. But she didn't ask.

There was no one at the door he barely opened. He signed in disappointment then felt a soft tug on his robe and looked down.

She was a solemn child; dark haired with velvet-dark eyes as large as one of the moons that circled overhead. She was dressed in the long robes befitting a princess of Aldaraan though someone had started to undress her for bed and half the intricate braids he'd seen at the dinner were undone, leaving the child with a half-finished look. She carried a ragged doll in one tiny fist.

Fives looked down the hallway for her escort. He'd seen the child earlier, sitting at her mother's side and very passably handling the myriad selection of eating utensils at the state dinner. More passably, he knew, than he had done.

What was a child doing wandering around the dark warrens of Aldera Royal Palace's lower level? What the _kriff_ was the royal princess of Aldaraan doing wandering around without an escort?

Her solemn face lifted to his and she gave a small sigh. Fives supposed she might be lost and tired. Where was her minder? Her entourage? Where was a palace guard? Fives glanced both ways down the short hall and saw no one. Why wasn't there some sort of alarm, some sort of rushing around in search of her?

A line of caution threaded down his spine.

She lifted both hands up then looked at the doll hanging raggedly from one clenched fist. She brought her hands down again and moved to one side of the door, tucking the doll in a seated position at the corner of wall and floor under a small table. Then she moved back in front of Fives – _kriff_, he should have closed the door – and lifted her empty hands.

Fives let go of a huff of air as he bent and lifted her. She settled comfortably on one arm, her head tucked again his neck. "Let's go find someone to take you off my hands, royal brat." He glanced down as her stocking foot slid against his bare chest. "After I dress."

* * *

><p>I am going to lodge a complain with the Muses Guild. I did not sign up for where this is heading... another 50,000 words or so.<p>

*grumble, grumble* I have taxes to do!

Oh well, enjoy. Read and review.


	11. Spirals

**Spirals**

**ARE**

The cargo hold was the most obvious place and Are, wearing a clean set of workout clothing he'd found, took the bundle of his and Kix's dirty clothing, heavy with the acrid stench of fear, sweat, smoke, blaster and blood, to the cargo hold where a small starfighter was docked.

The fighter was sleek and white; the same polished white as the armor he'd given to Ghost. Are stood and gazed at it, though he couldn't have explained his own thoughts. Its edges were trimmed with blue and Rex was there, painting something on one side. He saw Are with the clothing and waved absently toward one wall where the cleaner was.

Are moved where directed but kept an eye on the other clone. Rex stepped off the small bench he'd been standing on – the very one he'd brought for Kix not a day ago – and came over as Are dropped the small armful onto a worktable. Are noticed spatters of blue paint on his hands.

"How are you doing?" asked the blonde clone.

"Good. I think," replied Are nervously. Rex scared him. Rex was command-level, like the captain who'd ordered him to die. Rex had been the hard one arguing against Are staying with Kix. Even if it had been a test, Rex had genuinely argued against him; there'd been no nuance of regret or friendship in his voice. Rex had ignored Kix's pain. Rex didn't really care. He hadn't even asked about Kix just now.

"There's not a lot of room aboard…" Rex began as he rubbed his hands with a towel but Are nodded and cut him off without looking at him, busying his shaking hands with the clothes.

"I've set up a pallet in Kix's room." He crumpled a thick shirt in his fists to stop the shaking. "It will be easiest for when Kix needs me."

"Temporarily I agree, but I think…" Rex began again.

Are shook his head. "Permanent. He's more damaged than he…" Are fell silent, willing his hands not to tremble as he pushed the clothing into the cleaner slot, but this time Rex broke into the silence.

"More damaged than he lets on." Rex peered down at the steel decking. "More than he wants to believe. More than he wants us to know."

Are nodded then turned back toward the main area of the ship. "I should get back. In case he wakes up."

"He won't for a while, Are." Rex turned back to the fighter, giving Are space, knowing Are was uncomfortable in his presence. "Usually he sleeps about half as long as he's been pushing himself. I'd say he'll start waking up – sleeping lightly, just dozing; waking up for bodily functions – in another half-day. He'll be thirsty." Rex grimaced. "Not very hungry, though."

Are nodded. "Ahsoka told me to make sure he ate at least the soup. That he hurts."

Rex nodded as he walked back to the fighter. "In just about every way it's possible for a man to hurt."

Are sighed, wishing he wasn't too afraid to ask what Rex meant. Kix certainly wouldn't tell him and while Ahsoka might explain some, she couldn't speak with as much authority as Rex regarding a brother clone.

Are stayed in the cabin during the time Kix slept. He didn't want to meet Rex in the hallway or have them think he was spying. Rex brought a tray of food for Are and invited Are to the main cabin.

"It's just there," he gestured down the small corridor. "We can leave the door open so you can listen for Kix." But Are shook his head, keeping his eyes down, as he took the tray. Rex had stood at the door for a moment then nodded. "If you need anything, Are, or help with Kix, one of us is usually in the main cabin." Are simply nodded as he moved the tray to the table, waiting. Rex sighed and quietly closed the door for Are.

The food was all civilian with no dry rations and that both pleased and startled Are. Like all troopers, he'd had muja fruit and nerf steak, but the variety of food he was getting astonished him. All this variety and on a small transport freighter? His mind froze at trying to consider all the different foods the galaxy might contain.

Sometimes he wished he were back… somewhere else… with no choices to make. He might make the wrong one. Are covered his face with his hands.

When he'd been wrong in the army, they had reconditioned him. That was the only reason to recondition… to correct the mistakes.

Wasn't it?

What would civilians do to him when he was wrong?

Rex had been right about Kix, he slept heavy and deep, barely moving, for a ship's day then half-woke complaining he needed to 'piss like a bantha'. By the time Are had emptied the container, Kix was asleep again; this time slightly turned on his side, the side of his face buried into his coat; a lighter, more relaxing sleep.

Are felt the small transport come out of hyperspace and land. He was curious, but not curious enough to leave Kix. They left and returned to hyperspace fairly quickly so he supposed it was simply to readjust their vector. That meant they were following … Are suddenly decided he didn't need to think of what it meant. Or why it was easy to understand what they were doing.

When Kix woke, Are had the shower ready, the chair steady with the towels and soap at arm's reach. Are bathed him and, after a few grumbles of 'I can do this myself', Kix quieted, letting Are's fingers scrub his scalp and his hands stroke the tension from Kix's back and shoulders.

"That feels good, Are," he finally mumbled.

"It's supposed to, Kix." Are covered Kix in the warm towel and there was no objection from Kix when Are lifted and carried him the short distance to the bed then brought out some clothes for Kix to wear.

Are braved his fear of Rex to ask the other if he would help bring Kix to the main cabin. "Because I don't want him using his crutches yet," he explained quietly.

"Of course, Are." Rex turned and grabbed a shirt, pulling it on even as he followed Are. "We'd better hurry or he'll attempt the crutches."

"They're with the cane." Are ducked his head with the tiniest smile. "Just for another day. He's not angry enough yet so I know he knows he isn't ready for them."

Rex gave him an odd look and Are felt he had to explain.

"He's still more tired than angry." Are moved with a brisk pace as if he, also, was afraid of leaving Kix to his own devices for too long.

"What will you do when he gets more angry than tired?" Rex asked quietly. "When he gets angry enough to send you away?"

Are glanced down, away from Rex. "He won't for a long time. He knows I need him more than he needs me." He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe go. Maybe beg him to let me stay. Ahsoka said it was my choice to call this _home_ so I don't think he can send me away, just away from helping him." He turned his head sideways, still looking down but also at Rex. "You outrank him. Maybe I'd beg you."

The command-level clone had halted in the hallway and closed his eyes. "Please don't beg, Are. Ask me, if you must and I will do what is best for both you and Kix. But my brothers shouldn't have to beg for what is theirs by right."

Are didn't understand, but they were at the door to Kix's room and he'd heard Rex would back him in staying with Kix. He breathed easier. Ahsoka had said it was his home if chose and Rex hadn't disagreed. He didn't understand what Rex had meant by "what is theirs by right" but he had heard Rex say 'what is best for Kix'. And that was enough.

Rex gestured at a door across from Kix's. "I meant to tell you the other day, that's your room. Still a few things there but I got it mostly cleared out yesterday." He shrugged at Are's look of disbelief. "Sometimes a little solitude is nice."

Kix looked up wryly as they entered the room. "I guess I have to resign myself to having a controlling second who hides my crutches."

"Someone has to watch over you, Kix," replied the blonde clone. "You don't."

Kix merely snorted his displeasure, but he held his arms to slide over their shoulders, allowing them to carry his weight to the main cabin. "Now you've got what I've always needed, Rex. A keeper."

"About time, too," came Ahsoka's voice from the cockpit beyond the main cabin. "We want to keep you, Kix. Hi, Are, haven't seen you around."

Are smiled, he liked her; she was friendly and sympathetic. Nothing like her partner. "I was taking care of clothes, cleaning myself, getting used to Kix's cabin."

"Have you checked yours yet? Do you like it?" Her striped lekku curled at the ends and Are knew it was some emotion but he didn't know which.

"Not yet," Are murmured with a glance at Rex. "Rex tried to tell me yesterday, but I didn't pay attention."

"Now that's a first," Kix muttered, slightly in pain, as they lowered him to a bench and Are straightened his leg along its length. "Hear that, Rex? Not everyone listens to you."

Rex gave Are a slight smile. "You never did, Kix. I can't recall that Ahsoka did either." He paused a moment. "In fact, all my best people have ignored my orders at the best times."

"Wouldn't that…" Are swallowed and tried again. "Wouldn't that have been insubordination? Or treason?"

Rex pulled off his shirt and returned to the practice mat. He nodded. "Yes. And I've never regretted any order that was ignored."

"Because we only disobeyed you when you were wrong, Rex," chuckled Kix.

"Or being stubborn," the co-pilot smiled as she put her arms around Kix's shoulders. He leaned slightly against her, closing his eyes breathing softly then she moved toward the navigator's con.

"I am not stubborn," said Rex as he fell into a stance that made Are frown. Was that familiar or unfamiliar? Kix was reaching for some pages of flimsi. He glanced up to Are and, smiling, gestured to the chair next to him.

"Never wrong either, are you?" Kix's voice teased good-naturedly and Are was glad he'd brought Kix into the main cabin. Already the lame man was smiling and relaxing in the company.

"Nope," laughed Rex. "Simply insufficient factual data for an accurate assessment. But never wrong."

Are looked around the main cabin and found out why Kix's cabin was so clean. It was in the main cabin where they had flimsi-readers, where they obviously shared meals – the making, the eating and the cleaning. It was in the main cabin where they talked and played sabacc and made plans. It was in the main cabin where they lived.

It was comforting to be with Kix and Ahsoka and, to some small extent, even Rex, in the main cabin. Ahsoka finished the calculations for navigation and came into the cabin, setting herself against Rex on the mat. For a moment Are was concerned for her safety, then his brows raised clear to his scalp as he saw she was _correcting_ his stance, the position of his hands. Whatever martial art this was, Rex was the student. Are watched closely, his fingers itching to… what? Rex noticed and, laughing, stepped off the mat.

"Why don't you give it a try, Are?" His voice was welcoming and Are sucked his lower lip in thought. Perhaps Rex wasn't as hard as he had originally seemed. Kix gave him a slight push and Are stood facing the Togruta girl. He … relaxed. This was something his body knew. Echo had practiced with him at camp, but Are knew this was burned into his reflexes beyond the sparring he and Echo had done.

He didn't know _who_ he'd been but he did know some of _what_ he'd done.

* * *

><p><strong>FIVES<strong>

Fives had quickly pulled on some dark blue pants and a dark grey, long-sleeved tunic, both trimmed with black braid, that Bail had loaned him. He didn't want to appear as if he was trying to hide, even if he was. He did want to appear as soldierly, as authoritarian as possible and Bail had said his rank was a count. Fives knew that outranked a captain of the guard; but often orders took precedence over an individual's rank.

He glanced at the little princess quietly on his bed, waiting for him. She was pulling at her hair, trying futilely to undo one of the last looped braids, with her soft, small fingers. He took a step closer and, with a twist of his adult fingers, had the jeweled clip undone. Again she gave a soft sigh and turned around looking into his eyes with a solemn expression.

He had a dark-colored jacket in his hand and pulled it around her shoulders. It wasn't really cold enough but her light colored gown would be far too visible and, until he knew what was happening he'd prefer she not be the first thing anyone saw.

Fives picked her up and she settled on his arm, leaning against his shoulder. There was an odd feeling about it. "I'll take care of you," he reassured her as he opened the door to his room and glanced down the corridor.

Since he wasn't a diplomatic guest, he'd been placed in the older, less accessible part of the older castle foundations. Bail had even laughingly pointed out a dungeon as he brought Fives down. Queen Breha and Prince Bail had chambers far above, in the area of the structure called 'the palace' rather than the part called the 'castle' or even the 'foundations' where he was standing.

Fives moved quietly. He didn't like the lack of the palace guard. Bail had told him if he needed anything, he'd only have to give a shout down the corridor and one of the guards would see to the situation – whatever it might be.

The princess might be a naturally quiet child, but given her expertise with a state dinner, Fives was sure she knew to call or cry out if she needed any help.

When he finally found a palace guard, in his old-fashion padded gambison and rimmed helmet, the man was asleep. Fives gave his shoulder a shake – sufficient to wake any guard Fives knew – but the guard only snored. Fives leaned closer and caught some chemical smell with each exhale. "He's drugged, little brat. What do you think of that?"

Of course, she didn't have any answer and Fives continued looking for a stairwell in this ancient hereditary home of Aldaraan royalty.

He'd gone up four flights of stone steps, quickly looking down each corridor. He saw several asleep, but none awake. Fives cussed himself under his breath as he turned a corner and saw a man checking a guard and holding a gun.

He only had to raise his hand and Fives made no sudden move, not with the princess covering half his chest.

"Now where did you get that?" Fives voice was slightly amused, not expecting an answer, even as he shifted his bundle more under his arm, into a less exposed position. The mere appearance of the gun proved the man wasn't another guest. Bail had been apologetic but no one except the palace guard carried any firearms or blasters around the Palace. Fives had easily relinquished his blasters and explosives to the guards, their eyes widening at the sheer amount of destruction he kept on his person.

That meant either this was one of the guards – out of uniform – but firearms were part of the uniform and off-duty guards did not carry their weapons. So he wasn't a guard. He wore only dark clothing, like Fives. Unlike Fives, there was no trim or anything indicating rank. He meant to hide and had not troubled to disguise that fact. He had a subtle indefinable air about him that told Fives he'd never been part of any squad, any company. This was a loner; and Fives suspected he was an assassin.

The little princess loosened her arm from Fives' neck and pulled her arms tight into her chest then ducked as small as possible into Fives' side. He could feel her heartbeat, fast and fragile, her breath coming in soft whimpers. She was afraid and pressed her face against him. That alone meant he wouldn't hand her over to the armed man.

"Give me the girl," the presumed assassin ordered, reaching out his hand to grab her. And that was his mistake.

Fives took a pivoting step sideways, his body perpendicular to the assassin and the princess now mostly hidden at his side. His free hand caught the assassin's wrist in an overhand grab, his thumb pressing against a nerve cluster on the back of the hand freezing the man's fingers. Once again Fives pivoted, this time in the other direction as he raised the assassin's arm – and the old-fashion but deadly pistol – over his head.

The assassin tried to jerk back his arm and that gave Fives the momentum to step forward and return the push with a guiding twist. The assassin bent to Fives speed and strength and propelled headfirst by his own momentum into the stone wall.

Fives decided he wouldn't simply hand over the princess to just anyone. He'd turn her over to her parents, of course, or any of the royal family or his contact.

He bent and picked up the pistol, checking it's mechanism a bit closer. It was a projectile weapon instead of blaster though he was more likely to use it silently as a short club in his hand.

Fives moved more quickly now. This was troubling. Someone had access to put many of the guards to sleep and call the remainder away. Someone had access to bring a pistol into the palace. Someone had put a bit of thought and planning into whatever was going to occur.

He grinned. They hadn't taken an ARC-trained rebel into account.

* * *

><p><strong>ARC-08<strong>

"ARC-0408," yelled the captain as he strode into the trooper barracks, his eyes glittering with triumph. "You have a debrief."

Oh-eight nodded as he continued rubbing his armor with the cloth. "Yes, sir. When?"

Two of the troopers moved away from the captain and Oh-eight noticed that and marked it in his memory; most of the men in the barracks simply laughed.

The captain's lips twisted in a parody of a friendly grin. "Now."

Oh-eight slowly stood from his rack, contempt in his every move, as he started toward the captain's office.

"Not with me, ARC." The captain's voice purred with maliciousness. "You'd better move a bit faster, ARC. You don't want to keep Lord Vader waiting."

Echo felt the first pangs of fear he'd felt since the Citadel.

* * *

><p>Mostly Are's story this time with a little Fives and Echo. That will change in the next chapter when there will be very little Are and more Fives and Echo.<p>

As always, please read, enjoy and review.


	12. Labyrinth

**Into the Labyrinth**

**Are**

The ship was in hyperspace, taking small leaps, though it was Ahsoka and not Rex who was the pilot.

Rex grinned at Are's expression. "Because who I was didn't know how to fly." His younger brother, and neither Rex nor Kix could help but think of him as 'younger', was slowly beginning to be less afraid of him. Although it did hurt to think that Are didn't trust him, Rex knew he was taking good care of Kix. Kix grumbled, but that was normal, but he didn't grumble very seriously and that was so very good.

Ahsoka snorted. "And who you are now still doesn't," she muttered but she smiled and her hand reached up to caress Rex's hand as though in apology for her words.

While it had been Rex who'd seen Are was terrified of him, it had been Ahsoka who noticed that fear was less evident in the cockpit of the freighter so she had invited him to keep her company in the co-pilot's seat. Are had even asked Rex to 'please check if Kix needs anything'. He hadn't looked Rex in the face while asking and he was polite, always polite, and ready for a refusal. Rex hadn't the heart to refuse him and he had wanted to check on Kix himself, ask him how Are was doing.

Are nodded at the bantering words between the pair. He shouldn't ask. It was Rex's secret – who he had once been – and there was always a chance they'd all be caught and interrogated. Are couldn't tell what he didn't know, so he tried to keep his attention to himself especially when they mentioned names and places. He'd been reconditioned. He was sure getting him to talk could be as simple as a code word or just a threat for another reconditioning. Are's mouth went dry just considering that and he tried not to listen.

But they were so … open … about it. There was no whispering, except when the blonde clone murmured something in Ahsoka's ears that made her blush. Are didn't need to hear those words; they weren't discussing secrets when she turned that bright sunset red and the white strips on her lekku burned ivory.

Are liked Ahsoka; she was kind and understanding of his fears. Are thought Rex and maybe even Kix would mock him if he spoke with them about how he felt about so many things. Ahsoka merely listened, occasionally asking a question or speaking and answering something inside Are. For a young woman, Are decided that she was wise. She had a beautiful smile also and Are would tentatively smile back at her after a moment's thought; at first because he was confused and then later so she wouldn't think he wanted to take Rex's place.

"Thank you." Her voice pulled him out of his reverie.

"What?" He jerked, his hands moving toward the navigation controls in reflex.

"Thank you for helping Kix," she repeated. "He does so much and he doesn't have the stamina for it anymore. Rex and I were afraid he'd kill himself trying to do so much."

Are shrugged softly, his fingers stroking the smooth, well-worn navigation console. "I like helping him. I think he lets me because he knows it makes me feel like I'm useful instead of just," Are's voice dropped to a whisper, "reconditioned waste."

"Are, please don't refer to yourself in that way." Her voice was distressed and she stretched her arm to touch him gently on the back of his hand. For a moment, he thought she was correcting him for his hands on a live console then he recognized it as basic human touch in comfort and encouragement.

"I can't help it," he said. "I have nothing before the quick stay on Kamino, getting assigned to Hamura and everything since. I get the feeling I used to be good at something." He glanced down in shame. "But I'm no good at anything now."

"You're a good second to Kix." Ahsoka shifted the freighter to autopilot and stood, shaking the tension from her hands and shoulders, then stretching the muscles of her back. "I'm thirsty. Would you like something?"

Are shook his head. "No, thank you."

"Ok," she moved into the main living area. As he watched the linear streaks of hyperspace, Are could hear her speaking to Rex and Kix. He leaned back, relaxing in the co-pilot's seat, and had the thought that it was more comfortable than the seat on a LAAT.

Are was comfortable here, especially since they were chasing down the Imperial transport's retreat from Hamura. Especially since they were following the departing Imperial Army. He already knew what he would do when they finally encountered Imperial stormtroopers; he'd make sure to die so they couldn't take him back.

He was pretty sure Rex would ensure he wasn't taken alive even without Are asking, but Are wanted to ask. He wanted to let the command level trooper _know_ he understood, to know that Are expected it.

* * *

><p><strong>Fives<strong>

Fives moved more quickly now, knowing there was someone or a plurality of someones seeking out the princess in his arms. Several times he heard noises; footsteps or the subtle sound of a body's movement and he stepped into the shadows letting them pass undisturbed. None of them were in the guards' old-fashion uniform.

Before long, he was in the area called 'the palace'; built on and above the foundations and above the castle. As he came up the stairwell, he noticed light and the sound of people in a garrison room off the corner of the hall. Bail had said there were garrison rooms; full of guards and weapons, on each floor closest to the stairs though the other garrison rooms had been silent and empty. If it was the guards making noise, instead of some intruder, he could have them escort him to His Serene Highness Prince Bail Organa and her Exalted Serene Royal Highness, Queen Breha Antilles Organa.

Fives knew where he was, he could find the landing where he'd left his flyer; he could find the State Dining Hall where he'd had dinner an eternity ago. He could find every place he'd been in this royal complex. But _kriff_ if he knew the location of Bail's private chambers. He had decided to take the child to his flyer if he got that far without meeting anyone else he could trust.

Fives sighed in relief. It was guards moving around in the room, some at the table, and, his luck, he recognized Princess Deara Antilles, the sister of both Celly and Queen Breha, pacing the width of the room, glaring angrily at those few guards awake and moving.

In spite of her tight grip around his neck and her quiet whimpering against his shoulder, Fives almost stepped forward into the room with the trembling child to hand her over to her aunt Deara. She was family, after all.

Princess Deara halted her short steps and whirled to face the guards who snapped to attention at her words. "You will find that brat…"

Fives halted mid-step. The venom and hatred in her voice weren't something he had heard before. This was so very personal. He leaned back into the shadow, curling his arm around the child. He pulled the draped jacket a bit tighter around her, hiding her form, hiding her light-colored dress.

"… and you will bring her back to me." She turned toward the door and Fives held his breath. Deara must have been looking at a mirror on the wall he couldn't see. She took a moment to resettle a wisp of hair coming from her tangle of braids. "I will be heir and queen and that bastard-child will not stand in my way." She turned back to the guards. "Vader wants her and Vader can have her."

Now, Fives noticed that many of the guards had their heads down, drugged; one man had even slumped under the table his fingers reaching for a metal-tipped bo-staff. Only some of the men in the guards gambisons were moving around and they paid no concern to their brothers, only to Princess Deara.

Fives wished he could stay and listen but he glanced down and the child looked up with tears streaking her face. "Go." Her lips formed the whisper and she whimpered. It was a good idea and Fives silently slipped back down the hallway.

* * *

><p><strong>CT-ARC-21-0408<strong>

Oh-eight stood in front of Lord Vader, his black medical armor gleaming, the heavy breathing of his respirator a counterpoint to the escorting captain's fading footsteps.

The ARC turned to his general. "I will kill him one day."

The black figure seemed to swallow light. He turned his head toward the door closing behind the captain. He took another breath, heavy like a scorching wind and faced his bug-eyed helmet toward the ARC. "He believes the same about you."

Oh-eight's only answer was a feral grin and the slightest shrug.

"He says you are a traitor," continued Lord Vader. "That you pushed a trooper into desertion and knew the unusual tactics of a rebel starfighter pilot."

Oh-eight shrugged. "He ordered the reconditioned waste to take out a shield generator. I probably indicated that desertion might be a better personal option than dying. I later took out the shield generator and returned to my position."

"And the starfighter?" Vader's amplified voice rumbled from deep in his chest seeming to reverberate in the small chamber.

"I saw a rebel starfighter take on five Imperials. I didn't bother to watch the entire fight."

"So I've been told." Another heavy, mechanically-assisted breath seemed to stifle the small amount of light in the room. "I've been told that you knew the outcome. That there was a wager."

For a moment Oh-eight's lips twisted in pain then he shrugged. He knew the voice and the light were tricks to make him feel small, to make him feel… powerless. He couldn't understand why though. He had followed this man to his death, to the Citadel; back when they both had different names. There was no need of tricks. He was loyal.

"The fighter flew like you use to fly, General Skywalker. Teasing the enemy then making a tight spiral around a destroyer until the fighters knocked into the larger ship's surface. I didn't have to watch. I'd seen it before. This pilot only took out five, not eight like you used to do."

The figure in black stiffened and seemed to harden in anger. "Do not call me by that name anymore, Echo. This is your opportunity to return to the 501st."

Oh-eight froze, it seemed reality shifted.

Everything took on a different perspective, like on a battlefield when the big lights of tanks and walkers had been thrown on and everything was laid bare instead of the shadowy forms half-revealed by a trooper's helmet lights.

"You knew," he whispered. "You _kriffing_ knew when they audited the Citadel. You knew when they found me." Oh-eight took a step forward. "Why didn't you return me to the 501st then?"

"You wouldn't understand. There are ramifications of Order 66 that needed to be more closely monitored…"

Echo's heart sank and he knew, knew with a certainty as firm as the man standing before him that they'd never return him to the 501st. He knew with that same conviction that Lord Vader wasn't General Skywalker; that Commander Appo's 501st wasn't any company he'd ever known. Anger and hate blazed in him, threatening to consume him for the destruction of everything he'd known and counted as familiar; for the drowned hope that he'd return home.

"Don't tell me I don't understand, Skyguy!" He used the name Ahsoka had affectionately called Skywalker when he'd been a brash young general; when he'd been popular with the troopers, when he'd been _human_. "You led them into the Jedi… against your own people; against your master and your student. Against Ahsoka and Kenobi." Something he'd read and disbelieved at the time stood out in his mind. "and _children_…"

Oh-eight felt hands; thick deadly fingers twist and tighten around his throat. His vision went red, deepening to near-black but he refused to raise his hands, to grab futilely at the Force hold.

Echo was sorry he was in garrison fatigues. If he'd been in armor, his hands would have been reaching for his blasters. He would have gotten off a blaster round or two.

Suddenly he was flying through the air then, just as suddenly, sliding against the wall to the floor. Something broke; Echo had felt that agony before.

The general was shouting something and Echo felt like he had on the Citadel when the explosion had taken him out. Liquid flowed from his ears and he couldn't make out Skywalker's words; his vision was overlaid with red and black. Or were those the colors he was actually seeing?

Then Echo heard another voice – cold and dead – filled with false kindness. "Really, Anakin. You must develop subtlety."

_Subtlety? _Echo thought he laughed. _General Skywalker wouldn't know subtlety staring into his eyes._ Echo's mind suddenly thundered with pain and tight burning wires cut into his flesh. He cried out and, despite his earlier resolution, clutched feebly at the invisible burning nothing that circled his throat.

The ARC vaguely recalled when they took him out of the general's presence. CT-ARC-21-0408 needed several days in bacta and when he emerged, he had the buzzy feeling in his head telling him he'd been flash-drilled. He knew, then, that he could never go home even if he discovered where home was.

Echo curled up and cried, ARC 8 nursed his hate, and something else was born.


	13. Chased

**CHASED**

**FIVES**

Knowing that Princess Deara was part of this conspiracy, knowing she was in contact with Lord Vader…. Fives had no choice but to try to make his ship with the child. Unless he found Prince Organa first and, as late as the hour was, that was very unlikely. He simply didn't know who else to trust.

"Ah, _kriff_," muttered Fives as he came up the turn of stairs to a lone castle guardsman hiding in a wall hollow. The guardsman, a shiny, new to his rank by the stiffness of his uniform must have been fresh from training, so newly-minted he'd take no shortcuts. His old-fashion slug-thrower was out and ready as he stepped out of the hollow.

"Don't move," he ordered, "other than to put the princess down."

Fives held up one hand, but his other supported the princess, wrapped in the dark jacket, who had her arms tightly around his neck. Behind him Fives heard other guards. Perhaps it would be alright; perhaps they would take the princess to her parents.

"There he is," shouted a voice.

"I have…" began the young guard, but a blaster shot came from behind Fives and skimmed his shoulder. He grunted in pain as he curled his arms around the girl, bringing her to his chest, and moving forward, ready to barrel down the young guardsman. More blaster shots followed.

The guardsman was quick-witted, recognizing something was wrong and Fives was grateful he didn't fire the old fashion weapon in his hands. At least, not at Fives.

He was good, fresh from training and firearms practice. Fives heard two men go down even as he saw the rookie's pale face and the fear in his eyes. He was firing with one hand, his other guiding Fives to behind him.

Fives grunted; the old-fashion gambison wouldn't last long against the blasters. He set the princess in the wall hallow and turned toward their attackers, the gun he'd taken from the assassin in his hand even as the guardsman went down as a plasma blast hit him in the chest.

The gun in his hand was unfamiliar in make, but Fives had been born to weapons and killed the last two men with no more thought than when his opponents had been tinnies.

Fives turned to find the princess at the guard's side as he groaned, clutching his arms to his chest. He glanced up at Fives.

"Just 'cause it looks old-fashion," gasped the guard as he slightly curled his body and rubbed his chest with his forearms, "doesn't mean it isn't up to date." He panted then gave another groan as he sat up. "Top quality personal ray- and particle-shield."

"Prince Organa doesn't spare any expense." Fives gave a soft laugh and reached his hand down to the man.

The young man eyed Fives' palm with a wary eye for the barest moment before clasping it with his own hand. "We're guards, not cannon fodder."

There was a flinch of pain in the clone's eyes as he helped the man to his feet. "We were," he said quietly.

There was a moment of silence then the younger man nodded. "I've heard; battles like Teth, Geonosis II, Umbara."

Fives turned his side to the man as his fist come up to his lips. _Kriff but I miss Echo. Dead these years and I still miss him every day. _He felt a small hand tuck itself into his fist and glanced down to a sympathetic gaze. He gave a quick smile at the princess then turned back to the guardsman leaning against the wall gritting his teeth as he rubbed his chest.

"I didn't realize…"

"It would hurt that much?" asked Fives and the young man nodded. Fives shrugged as he looked at his own wound. The blast had burn through the material to his shoulder and the side of his face stung like a burn but it was nothing permanent, nothing incapacitating. "You get used to it, used to pain." He reached his hand down to the princess. This time she merely held his hand, her pudgy fingers stretched around three of his. "The Princess Deara is aligned with Darth Vader." Fives wondered if he'd be believed.

The guard snorted then glanced at Princess Leia. "It doesn't surprise me. She's never been accepting of the adopted princesses and only hides her dislike in front of the Queen and Prince Bail."

"Can you get me to Prince Bail? To his personal quarters?" Fives felt a glimmer of hope in the darkness. "I have been totally lost in this maze."

The guard chuckled then winced as he stood straight. "That's why it's called the Labyrinth. I'll take you to the antechamber; his personal escort and assistant will take it from there."

"Good enough," said Fives as he reached down for Leia. "We might have to run, little princess." Comfortably she reached her arms around him and leaned into his shoulder.

* * *

><p><strong>ARE<strong>

Are stood and stretched, turning his head to each side and giving his shoulders a rolling shake to loosen his shoulders from their sparring. "I think Kix is ready to go back to his room."

"More than ready," smiled Kix. "I think I've read this page five or six times and I still haven't reached the bottom."

Rex laughed and gave Kix a quick grip on his shoulder.

Now was the time, Are decided, to talk to Rex. "Sir," he asked softly, his head bowed but he brought his eyes up to Rex's for the barest moment. _Please._ "Could you help me get Kix to his cabin? There'd be more support for him with the two of us."

Rex nodded. "Of course, Are."

Ahsoka glanced up and frowned slightly, as if confused by something. There was an abstract unfocus to her eyes, as if she was looking at something in him.

They got Kix into his bed, Are supporting his leg as Rex settled the upper portion of him. Are moved the blankets as well as Kix's coat even as he glanced at Rex. "I've something in my cabin I'd like to ask you about, sir."

Rex blinked then gave a small smile. "Of course, Are. Do you need any further help with Kix?"

Kix rolled his eyes but that morphed into a yawn even as his eyes closed.

"No sir. I'll be right there."

Rex stepped into Are's cabin. He sighed, the cabin looked no different than when they'd given it to Are. He was still sleeping on the pallet in Kix's room. Rex shook his head. Kix didn't need that attention now; Are had been very good with Kix over the two weeks since he'd joined them. Kix was healthier than he'd been in months of working on rebellion.

There was the quiet sound of the door closing and Are turned toward Rex. For a moment neither man moved. The Rex gestured at the cabin. "We meant it, Are. The cabin is yours."

Are nodded, but his lips were twisted with indecision and his brown eyes were questioning, looking around the room at anything except Rex. Then he steeled himself and stood straight. "If we're ever captured, sir. I want you to know I understand. I'll expect it."

"Expect what?" Rex was confused.

Are tilted his head slightly to one side. "Battlefield mercy, sir. I'll do my best to make sure they don't catch Kix or Ahsoka. Or you either; you're valuable. But in the end, I know it's more important they don't know who you are."

An odd expression crossed Rex's face and his lips tried to smile then frown and failed at both. "You don't know who we are."

Are shrugged. "I know your names. I know some of the contacts on Hamura." He looked Rex in the eyes in direct challenge. "I know the names of _vode_; your family. They can figure it out. They'd get information out of me that I don't know I have."

Slowly Rex nodded and let his hand touch Are's shoulder. "It would break my heart, _vod_, and you are _vod_. Ultimately though, you're correct." He started down the corridor then paused and turned.

"If the situation is reversed, then I ask it of you." He glanced back with a smile. "I've asked Ahsoka, but she…" he shrugged his shoulders with a grimace. "I think she would hesitate too long."

"My best, sir," promised Are.

* * *

><p><strong>ECHO<strong>

Echo moved down the hall of the base with purpose. He only had a limited amount of time and had to do it before he slept again. Sleep solidified flash training, made it more rigid. He could feel it – whatever Lord Vader and the emperor had done to him – creeping over him, taking his memory. There seemed to be so little of him left; between ARC 8 and the new one, Echo seemed so diminished.

Shock would break it. Maybe. Echo thought that had been how Rex had disobeyed Order 66. The shock for Chopper? No telling. Fives? Echo's fingers shook. _Don't think of Fives_.

He was panting heavily as he pulled his helmet from its locks and sat on the bench. Not wanting to attract too much attention, Echo worked in the dim light of the hangar bay, his pale fingers flickering like blades of light.

Blades of light.

The thought froze Echo for a moment and with the thought of his former commander came an inexplicable anger, a force stronger than mere hatred.

Echo wasn't surprised and he re-calibrated his helmet's memory even as he had to raise his hand every so often to wipe away the tears. From his armor he pulled a thin connector line and slid the slicer-wire into the base's main system. Half the night would be gone before he could send the hidden data entwined with the regular transmission report but from there it would spread out to all Imperial systems. It would be accessible anywhere he went; any Imperial planet, any Imperial base, any Imperial ship larger than a starfighter. Patiently he waited. Echo smiled wanly. He'd always been the patient one.

Echo glanced down at the body; at the clone who had come up to him in a friendly manner and his lips trembled and gaped in horror at the corpse. He had heard the _vod_ approaching, but he'd only been doing some preliminary work on his helmet at that moment, work any brother would be doing during armor maintenance, and he'd been willing to be quiet company, to listen to whatever drivel the other clone would spout. Echo had lifted his head to greet the other with a nod and…

… white agony had laced though him …

… leaving only the dead body of the other trooper on the floor next to the bench, Echo's arms around his head and his face so close he could have kissed the corpse.

For a short while Echo chewed the inside of his lips, sucking them inward, as he contemplated what to do with the dead clone then he shrugged. Leaving the body would be as good a test of his theory as anything else.

* * *

><p>Vader looked down at the body and felt a frisson of familiarity he quickly suppressed. It was a clone, of course, the brown eyes staring forever, his neck twisted and broken.<p>

Behind his mask Vader felt an expression form though he couldn't determine if it was a smile or a frown or some chimera of both.

"Perhaps it's a rebel infiltrator," suggested the lieutenant at his elbow. "Shall I…"

"No." Vader's voice was like a wall. "I sent him in here to die." His gloved hand gestured at the body. "Dispose of the corpse. All goes as planned."

The lieutenant merely bent to slide the corpse over his shoulder. He hesitated a moment as Vader reached out and ran his gloved fingers over the dead clone's blonde hair, a rare permitted mutation among some of the originals. The lieutenant's lips curled. He'd been formulated with newer, improved techniques. Those mutations were no longer permitted.

"I have taken care of them," Vader repeated in a low voice that sent shivers down the lieutenant's spine. "Sooner or later my traitorous padawan and captain will fall."

* * *

><p>There was no cry of outrage at the death of a stormtrooper on the base, no hue of chase, no questions. It was as though he'd been shipped out – almost as though he'd never even walked into the hangar, had never surprised Echo.<p>

Echo knew then his theory was right. No longer was he free enough to call his actions his own. In his bunk, he turned his head to the wall and died.

The next morning ARC 8 woke and armored up. The other waited, gathering strength in hate.

* * *

><p>As usual, read and enjoy.<p>

Reviews are nice.


	14. Shine

**SHINE**

**Fives**

Fives followed the young guard. They moved quickly and the guard had no hesitation at any corner or intersection.

Fives gave a chuckle. "That must take up most of the training," he said, "learning your way around here." The guard didn't say anything but a smile flickered across his face.

They were quieter than larger groups of men and avoided them. They also seemed to be avoiding parts of the palace as well though Fives thought he remembered that section of paneling near the great hall when he had escorted Celly out, thought that tapestry familiar. Then the guard led them around a corner and there were more guards. Fives stiffened, his hand around the small blaster.

"He wishes to see Prince Bail," said the young guard as he stepped between Fives holding the princess and the group of guards, "and my call is he should."

"The prince is not to be disturbed," replied one of the men disdainfully though he did look curiously at Princess Leia sleepily leaning against Fives. He's uniform was darker than the guards and he wore no padded armor, definately an officer and most definately in charge by the way he was standing. "For any reason."

"For any reason save one," replied the young guard, his face white.

Fives supposed that being as low on the hierarchy as this guard seemed to be and demanding to see the prince was probably a good reason to worry about one's continued employment.

The elder guard shook his head. "For no reason," he reiterated though his brows had drawn inward and he tilted his head slightly. "He was very specific."

"For treason," spat out the young man as he absently rubbed his chest. "For treason and murder and betrayal."

They were marched into another room, large and comfortable and ornately plain if something could be both. There was a desk and some chairs, couches and artwork, a large window with curtains drawn and books. Prince Bail Organa came in shortly after them and he didn't look as if he'd been to bed in the long hours since dinner. He reached for the princess in Fives' arms and she reach up to him with a sleepy word. "Papa."

The guard, who'd fallen asleep in one of the straight-back chairs as they waited, woke as Fives tapped his leg. Bemused for a moment, he jerked into movement at Bail's appearance. "Sir," he snapped to attention and winced because that had also hurt.

"Report, guardsman Richur," Bail ordered in a soft voice and Fives was impressed if Prince Bail knew all his guardsmen down to the lowliest rookie.

Richur swallowed then found his voice. "Sir, on the seventh level at the fourth intersection as I was coming off my shift, I found this man with Princess Leia. I thought he was kidnapping her or meant her some harm and ordered him to stand to. He did, for a moment then some men in guards' uniforms came up the stairs and fired on him even after I said I had him, even with the princess in his arms."

Fives could see that was what had decided the guardsman - the fact that someone had fired on one of the royal family.

The guard continued. "I fired back at them, covered him and brought him here." He glanced at Fives. "According to standard procudure."

And Fives knew that had not been by the most direct route.

Bail reached out a finger and, curiosity in his eyes, tapped the guardsman on the dark circle of plasma blast on the quilted gambison. "I will want a fuller written report." Bail gave him a nod and gestured toward the desk.

"Now, sir? Here, sir?" asked the young man and Bail gave him a half-smile.

"Here and now, guardsman. There are reporting materials in the desk."

As the guard moved toward the desk Prince Bail clasped Fives by the arm and guided him toward a more private area of the room.

"Will you tell me what happened, Fives?"

"There was a knock on my door, Bail, and she was there." He gestured to the child in Bail's arms. She looked up into her father's face.

"Left Pamay," she murmured softly and the prince smiled indulgently at her.

"We'll have to get her then," said Bail, "but tomorrow."

Fives remembered Leia's careful placement of the doll and nodded. "When I went to notify a guard at the corner I saw he was asleep at his post, drugged. I thought to find someone – anyone – to give her to."

Bail laughed at that, rubbing the child's back in comfort and Fives continued.

"There were several guards drugged or missing. I found an assassin who wasn't very good."

"I'm glad for that, Fives, although I suspect he was simply not as good as you."

Fives shrugging a shoulder, winced as he discovered it was his wounded one. "Maybe. I kept moving, coming up to the main part of the palace, hoping to find someone more responsible to hand her over. I found Princess Deara and what I saw made me reluctant to hand the little one over to her. After that I was going for my flyer."

"Tell me," the prince ordered, his dark eyes piercing Fives, his face deadly still, "what you saw."

"A holo of," Fives lowered his voice as if the Sith would be able to hear him parsecs and worlds away, "Lord Vader. The Princess Deara was planning on giving the little princess to him. She said the brat should die, that she wasn't part of the royal family." Fives licked his lips. "I got the feeling that once the princess was gone, the queen wouldn't have lasted much longer. Nor you." Fives sucked on his lower lip. "Nor any other sisters."

Bail was quiet for a moment then he nodded. "I've had suspicions of conspiracy, but no evidence. No proof. And no idea it went that deep into the royal family." He gestured to his clothing. "We were trying to trace a random transmission…" He stood and began giving orders rapidly; calling several of his men, the princess still on his arm. There wasn't much more to discuss, only details and with the help of the young guard, they backtracked on a map and pinpointed where Fives had seen Princess Deara and where, with luck, she might still be found.

While Bail made orders the little princess, shimmied from his arm down to the floor and came to sit next to Fives leaning against him still cloaked in the jacket.

Fives turned to the little princess, putting his arm around her shoulder and she leaned against him.

"Why me, little princess? Why me?" he murmured without expecting a response.

"You shine," she whispered, her breath caressing his cheek.

* * *

><p><strong>ARE<strong>

They discovered Are had once been a pilot.

Ahsoka and Are had been in the cockpit, simply talking. Are liked talking with the Togrutan. When she asked questions, it didn't sound like interrogation.

Are hadn't laughed yet, but he did smile shyly at her jokes – which were terrible. He had lost most of his fear of the command clone, Rex, and they often sparred, pitting their strength against each other. Those were good workouts and Are knew that Rex had missed that aspect of brotherhood, of being in the army. Ahsoka was a good fighter but her techniques were very different and when Rex fought her he couldn't use his strength. Fighting Kix was a non-issue.

Are hadn't been sure he'd be a workout for Rex. "I didn't have too many workout partners," he murmured towards the floor when Rex offered him a good bout the first time. So Rex offered half-speed and half-strength with Kix observing and deciding when they should move faster. Kix had laughingly monitored and had them move to full speed toward the end of the workout and when they'd finished, Rex had lightly set his hand on Are's shoulder; Are had looked toward the floor wondering...

"That was good, Are. If you're willing, I'd like to spar everyday."

Are, feeling more alive than he had in a long time, blood and adrenaline rushing through his body, had nodded. He was sweaty and his muscles exhausted. "Me too, sir." He slowly looked up from the floor and nodded. "It was a good workout and I'd like to spar everyday also."

Are still preferred Kix and Ahsoka's company over Rex though.

Rex and Kix were in the main room, Rex working on some troop distribution of the rebel forces. Are didn't like to be in the same room then. There were so many things he didn't want to know. Kix was also at the table, the pieces of his leg brace scattered in front of him. He was always working on it to make the it both more comfortable and more stable.

They were orbiting a planet, waiting. Though for what, Are made sure not to know. Are was watching the stars when Ahsoka stood, stretched and went back to the galley for tea. She offered to get some for Are and he nodded.

Are could hear her voice as she spoke with Kix and Rex; joking lightly. She must have run her fingers over Rex's scalp, he usually made that absent low hum when he was busy and she touched him. Are grinned. Sometimes she ran her fingers over his shoulders when he didn't notice and it felt good; good enough for him to want to growl like Rex or purr like Kix. Not that he did. She liked touching them and Are enjoyed it so much because it was nothing like any touched he'd ever received.

There was the shifting of space, like a ripple, and Are reacted, shouting, "Lock down! Hyperspace incoming, lock down, lock down. Grab Kix." as his fingers reached and slipped off the autopilot. He grabbed the controls with one hand as his other locked him in and the little transport was buffeted by the waves, suddenly flipping them around, the very fabric of space twisting them as easily as a leaf in water.

Are heard a soft grunt from Rex and Kix's reassurance of "I'm good, Rex." He heard Ahsoka's surprised cry - oh, yes, she'd been making tea with hot water - and then her shout of "I'll be there, Are."

He ignored the sounds as he concentrated on the controls and what he was seeing of the hyperspace splash they'd been caught in. "It's Imperial," he called out to Rex's muffled curses as he saw what he was looking for; bubbles where normal space and hyperspace mixed and co-mingled, where things hadn't settled yet. Where he could shot them into hyperspace on the wake of their arrival and they wouldn't see him. He was halfway there, skimming the bigger ship's wake, when Ahsoka sat next to him. She locked herself into the seat and, after a moment's consideration, simply nodded. "I've got preset coordinates. Let me know when to engage the drive."

"I'm going to kill that hut'tuun motherless, shabla, unnested, miserable..." Rex's voice continued on as the ship slipped into hyperdrive.

* * *

><p><strong>ARC 8<strong>

Arc 8 was cleaning one of the blasters in the armory when the captain came to him.

"ARC 8, you were to report for subsiderary training at 1430."

The ARC shrugged, turned to pick up his helmet and slipped it on. He usually found an excuse to do so when the captain gave him orders. He checked scheduling and found that he did, indeed have subsiderary training at 1430. The message had been sent at 1415 and he'd been in the armory cleaning weapons since before then.

It was simply another way the captain had of letting the ARC know who was in charge. As if ARC 8 didn't know the hierarchy of command.

"Yes, sir." ARC 8 stood and would have gone if the captain hadn't been standing in the doorway.

As the captain turned and left the armory, he knocked over the small container of oil by the blaster the ARC had been working on. He gave an ugly smile. "You'll need to clean that up first, ARC." Then he strode from the armory.

ARC 8 stared at the puddle of deece oil; thick, black and shimmery in the light of the armory. As he bent to clean it up, it's surface reflected his face.

ARC 8 paused and watched his reflection in the oil, the black mask observing him back. With a cry of anger, he whipped off the helmet and flung it away. It hit the wall then fell to the floor with a dull, thudding noise. After long moments of staring at his bucket rocking back and forth, ARC 8 cleaned up the puddle.

But he made sure he wouldn't see that black mask staring back at him.


	15. News

**NEWS**

**FIVES**

Fives reached and scratched his healing shoulder. Celly had been quite concerned for the wound so minor he probably wouldn't have even gone to see Kix about it in the old days.

He chuckled in delight, contemplating Celly's reaction, as he reached up to zero the coordinates then waited as the new ones came from the beacon Rex and Ahsoka had set here. They were wrong, of course, in case some Imperial ship came instead of him but he knew the information – the answer to some random question about their past – that completed the code, switching it to the correct and final coordinates.

With steady hands, he confirmed the new coordinates and gently pushed the ship into hyperdrive. There was that moment of pause, of shifting as the galaxy ceased movement, then the stars became milky streams of light.

Fives could have set the autopilot, but he preferred to pilot himself amidst the beauty of the dancing stars. Flying had come easy for him in ARC training. He and Echo had…

Fives pushed the memory away; piloting was not a time for maudlin memories. The hypnotic star streams tended to mesmerize him into remembering the old days. He shifted to more recent memories.

After confounding the plot to kidnap the little princess and delivering the information from his contact on Aldaraan to very inappropriate rebels – Hondo Ohnaka of all people – Fives had visited Chopper. He'd heard that Chopper was no longer one of them; that he'd been in Imperial hands and interrogated.

Maybe so, but Fives had few enough brothers that he couldn't see discarding one for so simple a reason as he might now be an Imperial double agent. Fives knew he was better than anything the Imperials would have watching a clone deserter on the off-chance something might happen and what he wanted from Chopper wasn't 'business'.

Not that he simply flew his ship into Chopper's front yard. He landed half a continent away, making his way by local transport and, as he got closer, by stealth in the darkness of night.

After a day's observation, he knew that no one except him observed the cabin on the edge of a meadow in the mountains. Fives circled the cabin several times checking for passive surveillance. There was none.

He saw Chopper come out and move to the woodpile with a smile on his ravaged face whistling a tune. Fives smiled and stepped into the clearing where Chopper could see him. It was never a good idea to sneak up on Chopper.

Chopper had been ecstatic, pounding him on the back as he hugged him tightly then pulled him into the small house to introduce Fives to the newest member of the family.

She had hair as dark as any clone's, smoky velvet eyes that Fives knew would turn hazel gold and she fit into Fives' two hands like nothing he'd ever held.

"I wanted to name her 'Rex'," said Chopper as he cupped his single hand under Fives' fingers around her head, "but Deena didn't approve. She didn't like the idea of naming our child after her either and I am adamantly against naming her after me." Chopper paused in thought, "Though I'm pretty sure Deena was teasing about that. We're still contemplating 'Ahsoka'."

The tiny child opened her tiny flower-bud of a mouth and yawned, her round face wrinkling even further.

"Name her 'Echo'," suggested Fives. "It's a good name." Echo would have loved holding her. Fives could see Echo's expression of delight in his mind and took a deep breath, exorcising Echo's ghost as he did five or ten times a day.

Chopper was suddenly silent and he looked down at the floor, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he ground his teeth together. It was an old habit that Fives hadn't seen in several years. Instantly he was alert.

"What?"

Chopper's gaze moved from the floor to Fives' dark eyes. "You haven't seen Rex or Ahsoka recently, have you?" It wasn't a question.

Fives shook his head. "Not since before we lost you, Chopper, though I read the report…" he gestured his head towards Chopper's handless wrist. "I've been…," he gave a grin, "well, doing more of what I do."

Chopper smiled back slightly. "Asking pretty girls if your tattoo is on straight and otherwise not my business." Then his face became solemn and he reached for the baby, carefully settling her in his curled arms before lifting her from Fives' hands. He turned and carried her back to where Deena was napping. Fives heard soft speech; Chopper's words that they were going out to check the barn, her loving reply.

For only a moment, Fives wondered if he should look for a woman to wife. He shook his head. He'd be a terrible husband, never home and always shifting, hiding from Imperials. Not to mention there were far too many women of interest to decide on only one; although Celly would definitely be a contender. Fives smiled; definitely a contender.

Chopper came out of the room, took his coat off the hook by the door and didn't say anything until they actually had checked the woodpile and the animals in the barn.

Chopper was leaning on a fence, his arms crossed in front of him and his single hand curved around his elbow. Fives knew that Chopper took time to say things but the words out of Chopper's lips took his breath away.

"I think Echo's alive."

Fives wavered, his knees suddenly and inexplicably weak. Chopper reached out to grip his arm, to steady him. "Here, lean on the fence. It's good for that."

Fives leaned, bent his head between his arms on the wood, blowing the breath out with harsh panting. Then he shook his head. "He can't be, Chopper. I saw him die at the Citadel."

Chopper stroked the side of his face, where old scars lived on his skin. He had made peace with them before the 501st took the Jedi temple. "Explosions can be particularly deceptive, Fives, and if you thought he died then why did you search?"

"Maybe. Maybe so, Chopper." Fives swallowed, ignoring Chopper's question. "He would have discovered we deserted." Fives shook his head in disbelief. "Echo wouldn't have stayed."

Chopper regarded him with mismatched eyes. Fives knew he was nearly blind now in the cloudy, yellow eye.

"It took me years, Fives, but I know we're individuals. Rex deserted for Ahsoka, you deserted because of what had happened at the Citadel and Umbara. Kix deserted because Order 66 applied to children. I deserted because I…" Chopper looked ashamed, "had no friends outside of Rex, Kix and you." He paused, moving his gaze from the grass underfoot to the shadows of the forest beyond the meadow. "Why would Echo desert, Fives? He didn't experience Umbara or Order 66; or the turmoil of those later days. He wasn't there when we had to make a decision; an irrevocable decision that would changes our lives forever based on the chaos of that moment around us. "

"He'd desert because we deserted," exclaimed Fives.

Chopper shrugged. "Maybe he'd follow us; if they'd given him the opportunity to sit and think but do you think they'd do that? More likely they'd send him back to Kamino for testing; reinforcing the hierarchy of command, shifting him from here to there constantly, keeping his mind busy with new regulations and new places. And he'd be hurt enough to stay because the army is all he knows."

Chopper was silent, staring out into the past then he sighed heavily. "I'm not certain. I had dreams and Ahsoka must have picked up on them." He chuckled. "Partners." After a moment, he reached into the coat he wore and pulled out a worn, old-fashioned postcard. "It's what passes for communication out here." He handed it to Fives.

_Sorry we missed your wedding. Had our own and vacationing at Pelpont. The mountains are wonderful and the echo goes on forever._

"Three, two, one," murmured Fives as he looked at the postcard. Three statements, two lies, one word."

It was a makeshift code they had developed; a three sentence communique. Two sentences would be lies and the third would contain some relevant message.

_Sorry we missed your wedding. _A lie. They'd all been there for Chopper's marriage to Deena. Rex had even taken what Deena called a 'traditional' dare of the best man to dance on the table and Cut, Chopper, and Fives, claiming they were best, had joined him with Kix laughing and clapping to the beat of the music. It had been a glorious time.

_Had our own and vacationing at Pelpont. _Another lie. Rex and Ahsoka weren't planning on getting married until the emperor was defeated, dedicating their lives to that end. Fives thought that decision a tragedy and he had argued with Rex constantly, telling him he should marry their former commander, leave the rebellion and be happy. Until one night after frayed nerves had resulted in a fistfight between the two. Ahsoka had come up to him with tears in her eyes.

'Why do you think arguing with Rex will change our minds?'

'Because I want you to be happy, commander."

'Do you think we'll be happy while the Empire exists?'

Fives knew they wouldn't and he had apologized to Ahsoka and then to Rex. That had happened on Pelpont.

_The mountains are wonderful and the echo goes on forever. _Two lies; so the code word would be in the other statement and the only word of relevance was 'echo'.

"I think," began Chopper after Fives had been silently contemplating the small card for too long. "I think Echo was the ARC who 'interviewed' me, who gave me seven painkillers for the options it provided. I just didn't recognize him." He gave a sad chuckle. "I had other things on my mind. But I remember talking to him as I made my way to the fallback point. I thought I was talking to ghosts - Coric and Hardcase as well as Echo." Chopper shook his head. "Maybe I recognized him and simply didn't realize it until I came home. I'm sorry, Fives. I am so very sorry."

Fives put the back of his thumb to his lips, his head shaking in denial. "No, Chopper. It couldn't have been Echo. He would have greeted you in the cell. He would have yelled it to the sky and pounded you on the back then gotten you out."

Chopper chuckled softly. "I would have passed out if he'd done that." He put his hand on Fives' shoulder. "If it is Echo, if you need me, _vod_, for whatever purpose I will be there. And if you do find him," Chopper's voice turned into a warning growl, "you had better bring him to meet his niece."

Fives gave Chopper a slight grin at the hope in his voice then his expression became solemn.

"It's not Echo, Chopper."

* * *

><p><strong>ARE<strong>

The small ship was quiet. Rex and Ahsoka had gone to meet someone about a shipment of armaments for Hamura. It seemed they might be returning to that muddy, war-torn planet. Rex had also been muttering about a possible traitor, citing 'the fish are smarter, Ahsoka'.

"You're only saying that because he almost shot you," retorted the Togrutan pilot saucily and Rex, solemn-faced, had raised a hand slowly to rest on her cheek.

"He almost shot _you_."

There was silence as Ahsoka closed her eyes and tilted her face into his palm. The she laughed and gave Rex one of her bright smiles. "Only because he didn't mean to, otherwise..." Her eyes looked past Rex and her lips curved into an 'O'. "I wasn't expecting it, Rex. Like I wasn't expecting the Imperial ship. I was in the _galley_." She turned to Are. "Are, plaese go over the records of our hasty departure, but I bet that Imperial ship was not battle-ready when it came out of hyperspace. I think it was simply," she shrugged, "accidental."

"Yes, sir," Are said in habit as he gave her a nod.

Rex narrowed his eyes as his fingers caressed the blaster at his side. "I suppose that means I can't question him?"

"Verbally only, Rex."

He sighed and his lips twisted in aggrieved pride as he turned to Kix and Are. "Do check the log to see if that ship was coming after us or simply almost ran over us." He turned to the ramp of the ship speaking to Ahsoka. "And if that cruiser was coming in with weapons out... If there is even a stormtrooper cleaning his blaster visible in one of the hangar bays, I am going to have a serious discussion with Jar-Jar."

"Serious? You and Jar-Jar?" Her voice laughed

They were still discussing as Are closed the ramp behind them. He glanced at Kix with a worried look. "What if it's me, Kix? What if I am the traitor and they can somehow track me?"

Kix pulled his crutches to him and rose from the chair with Are's assistance. "I think Ahsoka is right, Are, and so does Rex." Kix smiled at the other's confused expression. He's just arguing to argue. But we'll look at the log and make that determination."

Are stood unmoved, his hand under Kix's elbow, "What if it was battle-ready? What if I am the traitor?"

"We'll take care of you, Are, and not battlefield mercy." He smiled at Are's expression as he moved the crutches forward. "Rex tells me everything that bothers him; I'm still his medic." He gave Are a slight push toward the cockpit and followed on his crutches. "We will work it out somehow."

Are was glad that a viewing of the log vids showed the cruiser had not been battle-ready coming out of hyperspace - it hadn't even activated its shields. Are sat in the pilot's seat, his fingers running over the console, reacquainting themselves with the once-familiar. Kix relaxed in the co-pilot's seat.

"May I ask, Kix, how you got wounded? I've never seen damage like that. It doesn't look like blaster wound or shrapnel." Are tilted his head, his lips pressed tightly together as he considered. "What kind of weapon did the rebels…" he frowned as he considered his words, realizing he was a rebel now, but Kix only chuckled softly.

"Wasn't rebels, Are. Or droids or stormtroopers. It's a lightsaber wound."

"One of the Jedi?" Are's brows furrowed even further.

Kix shrugged. "Of a sort, I guess."

He paused and Are, watching his expression, suddenly wished he hadn't mentioned it.

"I'm sorry, Kix. You don't need to tell me, don't need to remember."

"I can't help remembering, Are. Every day." Kix smiled wanly and ran his fingers through Are's thick hair. "It's getting long, Are. I can trim it if you wish."

Are nodded. He hadn't meant to make Kix sad, to remind him of everything he'd lost. He found scissors and had his back to Kix in short order. He was relaxing on the stool he'd taken from the hangar, Kix's experienced hands deep in his hair, caressing his scalp, when Are realized that Kix did want to tell him what had happened but simply couldn't bear to look him in the face while doing so.

Are understood not being able to look someone in the face. So Are listened, not caring what Kix did to his hair as he remembered and spoke.

"My days and my nights are curtailed and constricted by this wound, Are. You know I can't feel my leg most of the time; what you don't know is sometimes I can't feel my hip or my waist on that side about up to my lower ribs. It took me months to heal, a year to learn walk with a cane and you know I still have problems with it." Are felt Kix's hands move, felt Kix shrug as if it was no matter to him anymore and heard the bright click of the scissors. "A year of being cared for and being useless; a year in which to contemplate my actions on a particular day and wonder how much would have turned out differently if I had acted differently or been someone besides a medic." Giving a short laugh Kix gripped Are's shoulder tightly. "A year in which I learned how deeply my brothers care for me, how much they love me."

Are licked his lips. "That's easy to do, Kix." He blushed deeply; glad Kix couldn't see his face. The scissors stopped for a moment and Are felt Kix's forehead against the side of his head. For a timeless moment, both men were silent and still.

"I was with the 501st," continued Kix as he wielded the scissors, as if nothing had changed. "We weren't called 'Vader's Fist' then. Vader didn't exist. We were simply 'The 501st' needing nothing more to distinguish us as the very best." Kix shifted slightly. "For being the best, we were given the," he paused, searching for the right word, but there was no right word so he fell back on what they had called it then. "Honor of saving the Republic from traitors. The 501st was given the task of going into the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. I know now the reason it was our 'honor' is because the Coruscant guards had daily dealings with the Jedi; as a company they would have hesitated. Maybe even rebelled. The 501st was always just coming out of battle, always primed to kill." Kix paused and carefully snipped around one of Are's ears then continued speaking. "We were given the mission to take down every Jedi in the temple; no mercy for the treacherous masters, no mercy for the knights, no mercy for the padawans and, though I didn't realize it at the time, no mercy for the children."

"Children?" Are's voice was a whisper and he began shaking. "They said they removed the children; that they were reconditioned to forget the Jedi and adopted out. I _remember_ that!" He stood suddenly, facing only the wall in front of him, avoiding Kix's eyes. "They rescued the children, Kix! They had to!" He raised his arms and slammed both fists against the metal bulkhead of the ship. "They had to, Kix," he repeated desperately. "I remember that."

"I'm sorry, Are."

Woodenly, Are sat back down, Kix's quiet apology more convincing than any arguments. He would have missed the stool if Kix's hand hadn't touched his waist and guided him. He was suddenly stiff, his muscles tense and Kix gently massaged one shoulder.

"Do you remember why it's so important, Are?" Kix's voice was gentle and Are nodded hesitantly.

"I found one. After some battle, searching for wounded brothers, I found a little girl. My general told me she'd go to the Temple and be taken care of. I remember… it was a good day." Are gulped and stuttered the remainder. "She… she hugged m..m… me and s… s… said w… when she became a c… c… commander, I'd be her c… c… captain." He bent his head into his hands and Kix could only rub his silent, shaking frame.

Suddenly Are looked up, twisting to see Kix's eyes, his voice firm with none of his usual hesitation. "You didn't kill her, Kix, you wouldn't be able to fire on defenseless children. What happened?"

That wasn't Are and a chill ran down Kix's spine as he knew he was seeing the trooper Are had once been.

"I was with General Skywalker," Kix resisted the urge to say 'sir' knowing now that Are had once been command level. "We, the general took a squad of us, went up to the main meeting place of the High Council of the Jedi." He shrugged a shoulder and glanced down at his useless leg. "To confront the Jedi, I thought. General Skywalker ordered us to wait, that he would confront the council by himself. So we waited outside the door, listening, hearing only the sound of light sabers."

Kix bowed his head. "I got worried." He chuckled without humor. "I got worried for our brave, reckless general facing the traitorous High Jedi Council alone; even more so when I realized I was hearing the noise of only a single light saber. So I went through the door. My first sight was a child, eyes still seeing. His eyes glanced away from me and I didn't understand. I thought the child had gotten in the way of two battling Jedi." Kix sat alone, remembering, then shook his head. "I glanced up, just in time to see General Skywalker swing his lightsaber at the final living child in that room." Kix shook his head again. "If I'd been a regular trooper instead of a medic, I would have reacted faster. My blaster would have been in my hand before he killed that last child and General Skywalker would have died." Kix shrugged. "I would have been executed as a traitor, but it would have been worth the change Vader's death would have brought."

Kix shrugged again. "He saw, of course, saw me futilely pull at my blaster. Too late. His light saber went through the blaster, the holster, my armor, most of my hip. Nonchalantly, not even concerned enough to see if he killed me or not. Just that easy swing as he walked past me."

Are, and it was Are now, not the nameless trooper he'd once been, pushed his hand against his face wiping away tears. "I'm sorry, Kix. I'm sorry. I don't know why I asked."

"You asked, Are, because you once did something good and worthwhile." Kix paused, his eyes dark pools of pain. "I suspect that's why they reconditioned you. They tried to take everything away from you but you still remember."

Are nodded hesitantly. "I found someone… a child on the battlefield."

Kix put his hand on Are's shoulder. "That's all you have to remember, Are. All you need to know is that you rescued someone." He smiled wanly and gestured at the stool. "I'm only half-finished, Are. Turn around and I'll make it even."

Are obediently sat back on the stool, allowing Kix to finish cutting his hair.

It was a good cut and Are ran his fingers over the bush of his hair with a laugh. Kix also laughed and ran his fingers as well on Are's scalp, brushing out the fine trimmings.

They stopped as their fingers touched in the thickness of Are's dark hair.

Kix's fingers trembled and Are clasped his hand around the other man's hand, bringing it down to his face and softly kissed the palm; suddenly not afraid, suddenly sure.

"I can please you, Kix. The troopers taught me that when I was first sent to Hamura and," Are paused, tilting his head then looking shyly into Kix's eyes with dawning discovery, "and I think I'd like to please you."

Kix gave a soft snort of laughter though his expression was sad and he bent his forehead to Are's face. When he spoke, his breath was warm on Are's cheek, but he reclaimed his hand and shifted back in his seat.

"I think it's time you moved to your own cabin, Are."

Are's despair must have shown on his face because Kix touched his shoulder, letting his hand cup the muscular junction of Are's shoulder and neck. "I'll still need your assistance, but it doesn't have to be constant." He smiled at Are. "You need the opportunity."

Are didn't understand what opportunity for the longest time.

* * *

><p><strong>ARC-8<strong>

"ARC-8!" It was the captain's voice sharp in reprimand. ARC-8, observing the crisp bleakness of the stars, didn't deign to turn around. The captain wouldn't do anything, nothing that would bother 8 anyway. He'd long ago lost track of the demerits and extra duty simply kept him busy and fit.

"ARC-8, are you paying attention?"

"No." ARC-8 wondered what the captain would do as he looked out into the black void of space. There was something pristine and welcoming in the crystal clarity of the stars.

The captain sputtered then threatened. "When I see your 'friend' back on Hamura I'll prove you're a traitor."

It was an empty threat. ARC-8 didn't have any friends.

He used to. Once, long ago when he'd been a trooper instead of an ARC, he'd had a brother. Once, long ago, when he'd been in the GAR instead of the Imperial Army he'd had a good captain. Once, long ago, when he'd been a shiny, there was camaraderie in the mess.

He'd thought them dead - the commander at least and her captain.

Until he'd met a traitor who'd once been one of the best troopers in the 501st and now he wondered, knowing the official version was a lie. He'd always known that, but now he wondered which parts and how much. Surely it couldn't all be a lie; a good lie hung on truth.

"… for a voice of thunder," he murmured under his breath, letting his helmet catch whatever demerit or extra duty the captain was assigning him.

The captain had tried to destroy the civilian poetry and had done a good job of it. After meeting the woman who taught poetry, who loved poetry like he loved... he snarled silently; he didn't love anything anymore, but she had explained - yes, explained - they were just words and you couldn't love words ... what it meant. After listening to her words, he had concentrated on that poem and hadn't had time to remember the others. He remember this one though.

Who can remain human in the face of war?

ARC 8 wondered what he'd say if he had a voice like thunder.

He was just a clone.

A clone had nothing.

Not even a voice.


	16. Everything else

I've been attacked and supremely injured by Darth Real Life and his apprentice, Sith Lord Not Enough Time with henchdroids Single Mom Blues and Sandwich Generation. Sadly, to conserve what little powers I have remaining, I shall retreat (in most senses of the word) until further notice.

This means that I will not be able to complete Confiinement & Escape or Haruu II in a timely manner. I don't think that is fair to my readers and my beloved reviewers so I have decided to post what I have written of their futures and hope it makes enough sense that your mind can fill in the remainder. Will I ever come back to it? I'm sure I will - editing and writing are favorite ways I relax - but probably not for a year at least.

So this will seem a bit… disjointed but you'll have the story.

* * *

><p><strong>Back on Hamura…<strong>

The others would have raped her then killed her for being a rebel. He had savagely grabbed her from the taunting circle of captors and taken her, pushing her when she didn't move fast enough. He finally stopped when they were lost in the woods – at least, she was lost but with his helmet, he would always be able to find his way back.

Exhausted, she tripped over one of the thick roots of the tree. He jerked her up by an arm and set her on a small rock.

"Take off the shirt," he ordered, and she shivered as he reached to one of his belt pouches.

# # #

"I've heard they want you back. They said you're family."

"Not if they knew…" abruptly he stood. "You can go now. It's marginally safer."

She stood slower, pulling on her shirt over the ribs he'd both broken and bandaged. "He said he thinks of you a hundred times a day because you were so good with information but he thinks of you a thousand times at night. Wondering."

Echo grunted, then swiftly re-armored. He had to go, before he missed Rex instead of hating him.

"He left me in hell."

* * *

><p>"We've heard that one of them is a clone deserter. He has a list of the names of the leaders and major contacts. Take him alive."<p>

ARC 8 shook his head.

"Are you saying you won't follow orders, ARC?"

"He won't let us take him alive."

"Your orders stand, eight. Take him alive."

"Yes, sir." ARC 8 shrugged and the captain's eyes narrowed. Oh-eight had the line between insubordination and duty finely drawn. Sometimes the captain wasn't sure on which side Oh-eight was standing and not knowing bothered him more than the actual act of insubordination.

He hadn't broken the ARC yet. He would. He had to. CT-ARC-0408 was watching him oddly and that scared the captain though he kept that little fact to himself.

He had thought the reconditioned R-50's death would break the ARC, but the _ka'tini_ had deserted. He'd found a small reading disk among the ARC's belongs and destroyed it remembering to wipe the ARC's memory cache from his helmet.

He had destroyed everything of worth to the ARC and still the clone defied him.

* * *

><p>There were three of them – one an ARC - and Fives glanced at his blaster.<p>

They took his moment of distraction to move forward into new cover.

The energy charge was low. He had one shot left; maybe. He grimaced. A blaster charge that low wouldn't even penetrate their armor.

He knew they could get him to talk. They assumed all the escaped clones were rebels, even though Fives knew of some who weren't; some who were burnt out on war.

But Fives knew so much more. He wasn't just a rebel; he was one of the planners, the organizers; a liaison between cells. Codes, contacts, financiers … if they got all that information resting in his mind, the foundation of organized rebellion would be destroyed before the rebellion could begin.

Thousands more would die; including the captain, including the commander. Including long-wounded Kix and his new second, including Chopper and his tiny family, including Cut and Suu and Shaeeah and Jek, including lush, lovely Celly and Bail and Breha and the little princess that interested Vader.

They had never discussed this scenario – when he and his brothers sat in some back corner of a small bar with ale in their hands or around a fire with stars crystal-bright above them. They had never discussed this scenario. They had never had to discuss it. This scenario was obvious by its very omission.

Fives turned the blaster and tucked it into the hollow below his jaw pointing up and back. It would take out his cerebellum – probably most of his head - and he'd be dead before his finger relaxed.

"Fives! No!"

It was a harsh shout and only his name stopped Fives from pulling the trigger.

The ARC quickly turned and attacked one of the men. Fives ran and grappled with the other even as the man froze for an instant in shock, staring at the ARC's betrayal.

Fives, also ARC trained, had the upper hand quickly, twisting the man's arm back, his boot wedged between the stormtrooper's helmet and shoulder. His only compunction against killing the stormtrooper was the fact that the ARC hadn't killed his man.

Fives turned, watching the ARC subdue the other trooper by twisting his wrist in an echani hold with more pain than necessary, levering him to the ground, pressing his chest against the floor; a fully charged blaster jammed at the back of the man's shoulder, wedged between spaulder and back plate.

It would be a painfully messy shot, and would leave a messy corpse. The blast would ricochet in the armor burning through the man's skin at least once. It was always a fatal shot and usually a slow, nasty way to die.

The ARC released the hold but pressed hard, threatening with the blaster as he pulled out binders, snapping them around the trooper's wrists. More slowly he pulled the trooper's set, held them for Fives to see then tossed them to Fives' waiting fingers. Fives quickly had his man immobilized as well.

Slowly the ARC turned his head, facing Fives. He gestured toward the rear of the building, towards privacy. Fives followed silently, wondering if he should run. There were ghosts in this war.

Maybe this was the ARC they'd heard rumors about. Maybe this was one of the old clones, maybe even someone from the 501st.

Not Echo though, Echo didn't move with this ARC's sleek power, Echo wasn't cruel.

"Can I remove my bucket?" the ARC asked softly and Fives nodded.

"Yes," he replied, just as soft. Suddenly he was afraid; suddenly terrified of ghosts.

The helmet was removed and Fives closed his eyes against the sudden tears. Echo's face was harder and his hair longer, sweat-licked and almost shaggy, flecked with gray.

"Echo." Fives stood, moving toward him. "I have missed you, Echo."

The ARC's face went stony, his body stiffly held and Fives paused with not a handspan of space between them.

"You didn't come for me." Echo's voice was flat and hard.

Fives flinched. He had tried but that counted for nothing. "Come on, Echo. You'll have to come with me."

Echo shook his head.

"You have to Echo. You've attacked the other troopers and, unless you plan on killing them…" He let the sentence fade at Echo's grim grin that was no part of the Echo he'd once known.

"You've made yourself a traitor, Echo." Fives glanced back toward where they'd left the stormtroopers. They'd be struggling to escape and nothing could hold a clone trooper for long. "Please don't stay, Echo. Don't die now."

"I could take you in, Fives." Echo suddenly had the blaster pointed at Fives. "A moment's confusion doesn't make me a traitor."

"They'd send you back for reconditioning." Fives stepped back, confusion written on his face.

"Do you think I'd object?" whispered Echo, his face astonished and drawn in pain. "Do you think I'd object," he repeated in a shout, suddenly angry, suddenly pacing like a caged animal with that sleek, contained power. His next words were lower, quieter, hissing through his teeth. "Do you think I don't want to lose those memories of the Citadel? Day in and no one coming for me? Day out and no food or maybe a little torture because they liked it? Screaming because they broke me? Crying because there was only constant pain…" He clamped his teeth together not willing to reveal any more weakness. "Do you think I want to keep those memories?"

"_Kriff_, Echo." Fives frowned, his face twisted in his own agony of failure. "I tried to come back. I volunteered for everything in that sector hoping I'd get close enough. The general let us take the _Twilight_ several times, but there were always patrol ships. We could never get close enough again."

Echo frowned. _Us?_ He pushed it aside. "And then the war ended, Fives. Why didn't you come when the war ended?"

"The war ended because of Order 66. The war ended because another began." He glared at Echo. There was too much he couldn't say and that should have been sufficient for Echo to understand. There was only one thing Fives could say. Just one thing.

"Please, Echo?"

Slowly he knelt in front of his white-armored brother. He held his hands out toward Echo, palms raised in supplication. "Please," he begged in a soft voice. "Please come home with me."

The flare of a stun ray struck Fives and his face, watching Echo's, turned to anguish in the instant before he slumped to the ground.

ARC 8 wondered what he knew that could be so painful. He wondered where he'd seen that tormented expression before then he remembered.

The mirror.

* * *

><p>"We were too late. They have him, sir." The voice came over the radio. "Two stormtroopers and one ARC."<p>

Rex's jaw clenched and bile rose in his throat. Fives was irreplaceable; not only for the Rebellion but as one of Rex's few surviving brothers. He didn't count clones anymore, his brothers could be counted on one hand; Fives, Kix, Chopper and Cut. Maybe – probably – Are soon. There were a few other clones, here and there, in the rebellion and he was honored to know them, to know of them. But they weren't his men and they weren't his brothers.

"Your orders, sir? Do we take him out?"

Rex knew they meant Fives. A long sniper shot into the back of the skull. He knew they'd try to make it painless and D'oro's men were very good. Fives would be living one instant and dead the next; all his fighting and struggle and sorrow over, everything he knew - gone.

Ahsoka's hand was on his arm. "He knows so much, Rex. We can't let the Empire have him, as much for his sake as for ours."

What the Empire did to clone deserters was not yet known. Rex thought it was because no clone had yet been captured and fully interrogated. Chopper had, with help, escaped. Jesse had grabbed a blaster from his five-man escort, taking four to the grave with him. He'd heard that Cody had somehow done the impossible by terminating himself in a stasis cell. It wouldn't simply be interrogation and reconditioning or termination.

Ahsoka was right, of course. Fives knew too much. Rex nodded but he couldn't get the order to form in his voice. He looked into her eyes, his own full of pain. She leaned her face against his heart and he put his arms around her.

"I can't do it, Ahsoka." His voice was soft, bewildered. "I can't give the order to kill Fives."

"Do you want to try a rescue?" She glanced over the small group they were escorting. There wasn't a fighter in the bunch; two engineers, an astro-geologist and their families. Of the entire group, she'd pick the astro-geologist's dainty, complaining wife as the toughest. At the end of a hard day of trekking, when the others fell heavily to sit or sleep, she was the one to moan and complain even as she helped dole out the rations.

Rex paused then shook his head. "We need to get them to the base. They're too valuable and dividing our forces isn't a good idea."

"Extraordinary circumstances," she said as she put her palm on his cheek. "You take them, Rex. I'll see what I can do about Fives."

Rex nodded after a pause. "Come home to me, Ahsoka. I can't stand the thought of losing any of my brothers, but you're my soul."

"And you mine." Ahsoka replied, tears in her eyes. Rex so rarely said anything of love but when he did, it cut her like the chill of absolute zero.

"Hold off, D'oro," he ordered through the comm unit. "Trail them and keep me informed as the troopers get closer to their base of operations. Slow them down if you can do so with no repeat no casualties. Send a couple of your fighters ahead to meet me at," he glanced at the map in his hand as he mentally calculated, "coordinates…

* * *

><p>Ahsoka saw the first one loosely sitting in the tree. He was obviously on sentry duty but every so often he glanced over his shoulder. Ahsoka could see the soft orange light of a fire and knew his night sight was negligible. She moved closer, swiftly and silently. There would be thermal augments and night vision in his helmet, but they wouldn't work correctly if he kept glancing at the fire. Ahsoka wondered what had his interest.<p>

She heard voices, one loud and raised, the other more controlled and quiet. An argument, then. Ahsoka smiled with a glint in her eye. The things she could do with an argument were endless. The Force worked easily on minds clouded with emotion. She crept closer, keeping the fire between her and the inattentive sentry.

Ahsoka reached out with her senses, sliding into the grey edge that was the Force. Fives was there, angry and physically uncomfortable; wounded in some emotional way but physically sound. An escape plan was already vining through his mind as he feigned sleep.

"I will report you, ARC. You attacked us!" That was the loud voice, the angry one. Red anger and dark indignation were all she got from him. He would be easy to control but his words were interesting and Ahsoka listened.

"He had a single charge left in the blaster. He was going to kill himself. My orders were to bring _him_ back alive. Nothing was said about making sure you survived." In spite of the lightness of his tone, his voice was darker, hard with an edge to it that made Ahsoka want to weep. It contained all the pain she'd ever felt. She reached out to touch his mind.

It was clouded; shadowed by darkness, more confused, more a torrential riot of emotion than any mind she'd ever touched; all held by a tiny splintering twig of sanity. It was more familiar than the mind of any stormtrooper had a right to be.

"Oh, Echo," she moaned softly, recognizing the ordered flavor of his mind, everything he must had gone through suddenly evident. Tears ran down her face as she recognized the darkness of Sith in him.

She felt the turmoil in his mind; so different from the Echo she'd known – the calm mind finding peace in repetition and reading. Now there were only questions and not even fully articulated in his mind. She felt his pain of betrayal. He had waited, he'd trusted, he'd known they would return. They hadn't, they had betrayed his trust and – no matter it hadn't been their fault, no matter how badly he wanted, he couldn't trust. It would destroy him.

Echo was the reason Fives hadn't killed himself. She went back to Fives' mind, to the plan weaving through his conscious and unconscious mind.

_Not without Echo._

_Not without Echo this time._

_Never again without Echo._

Oh Fives, she whispered to herself, what if he doesn't want to come? What if he _can't_ come?

Whatever had once bound the two troopers together was no longer between them; was silenced by that clouded blackness in the ARC stormtrooper she'd once known as Echo.

* * *

><p>"They must have used stunners or sleep gas on us," said Seven twenty-one.<p>

ARC eight nodded. But in his mind he didn't quite agree. He'd been stunned before. This had been more like falling asleep; with none of the after-effects of a stun.

More, ARC eight woke knowing, vaguely remembering her sunset skin. He seemed to recall a soft hand against his face, wet tears dropping against his cheek, as if in a dream.

_Don't leave me_, some deep portion of him cried. _Don't leave me again._

But he knew why she'd left. He only had to glance down at the claws at the end of his arms. She must have seen what was happening, what he was turning into. She had seen his emergent claws, the horns that were starting to grow from his head. He could feel them, their roots twisting into his mind. She seen and she'd known.

He was no longer Echo or even ARC 8.

They had left him behind.

Again.

At least this time he knew why.

He was no longer human.

**THE BEAST**

_Wilfred Owens_

_Let the boy try along this bayonet-blade  
>How cold steel is, and keen with hunger of blood;<br>Blue with all malice, like a madman's flash;  
>And thinly drawn with famishing for flesh.<em>

_Lend him to stroke these blind, blunt bullet-leads  
>Which long to nuzzle in the hearts of lads,<br>Or give him cartridges of fine zinc teeth,  
>Sharp with the sharpness of grief and death.<em>

_For his teeth seem for laughing round an apple.  
>There lurk no claws behind his fingers supple;<br>And God will grow no talons at his heels,  
>Nor antlers through the thickness of his curls.<em>

The beast ran his tongue lightly over his teeth. They weren't there yet, but sometimes he could feel the sharp tips of his bladed fangs growing in. They'd all be sharp someday soon, sharp enough to tear through armor and gnaw on his enemies' hearts.

Without moving, his narrowed glare flicked to the captain. He'd be the first. The beast would reach into his chest and bring out his beating heart, squeezing every shred of shrieking terror from it.

Already his hands had turned into thorny claws, ridged with dried blood; though when he looked at them they sometimes melted back into now-unfamiliar hands. He didn't bother to clean them. There was no removing blood; it stained you inside and out.

The antlers; horned, scaly growths with a life of their own, had already come in, rooted in the gray streaks of his dark hair, a vicious parody of his former commander's montrals. Their twisting, threaded presence weighed heavily at the roots of his horns, sweeping down the muscles of his neck and shoulders like a dark cloak that shifted into shadow and cut into the edges of memory. Their roots reached down his legs into the dirt where so much blood had already soaked through. His antlers thrived on blood.

Sometimes he wasn't sure how he got his helmet on, but the horns seemed almost sentient things, able by some ancient magic to vanish at will; though their heavy weight was ever present.

Inside him, a dark-hair young man howled in despair. The beast gently hushed him to silence as he brought the blaster softly and quietly to target.

_They are not combatants!_ Echo screamed deep inside the beast.

_No_, agreed the beast softly as he silently shifted forward. _They are prey_.

The beast waited until one of the snipers took the first shot. The man's head spattered against the stone behind him then he slumped forward. Alive then dead in the same instant. It was a good shot; no pain. The beast didn't mind blood, but pain was not permitted. The beast frowned, unable to continue the thought so Echo continued it for him. _Because there's already been too much pain, for all of us. Don't do this. _

The beast snarled, unafraid of pain, and pushed Echo aside.

_Please, _Echo begged. _Please don't kill them._

The second sniper took his shot; an instant off time but still a good kill, and the beast rose from hiding, blue fire from his hands razing the screaming, confused civilians as they panicked and ran.

_Civilians!_ Again, the young trooper inside yelled at him, tugging at one of his arm. Pulled, the beast missed one of his targets, but the woman and her elder daughter fell to the earth. Pulsing with greedy hunger, his antlers suckled at their blood seeping into the mud, the death beat of their hearts melting into his domain.

Again the beast shoved Echo aside. Echo fell to one side, his arm coming up to cover his eyes. _No,_ he cried softly. _No, no, no._"

_There is only power,_ the beast told him. _Only survival._

The beast, reveling in the heady sense of blood and blaster, pushed forward through the smoke. Only twenty, no eighteen more people and then the captain.

He could feel his teeth coming in, jagged and sharp.

Frustrated, the beast growled. The battled had ended unsatisfactorily as far as the beast was concerned. Five more people and…

_Five?_ It was Echo's quiet voice in his head. _I want to see Fives._

The beast growled again, pushing someone aside as he made his way to his bunk on their new home. The others didn't bother him; someone once had grabbed him angrily by the shoulder. No one did that anymore. Usually they made sure to stay out of his way. Even the captain left him alone now, avoiding the beast when possible; his fear of the ARC palpable to every trooper in the company.

The beast threw himself onto the steel-framed bunk and slammed on his helmet. Echo sounded like he wanted to talk.

_Thank you, beast._

So polite, Echo was always so polite.

_I want to run the memory in the helmet. Back to the beginning._

The beast ground his teeth together. Words didn't come easily. He was the best ARC there was; he had survived the Citadel, he had survived Lord Vader, he had survived everything; but words had died and Echo usually slept. "All gone, Echo. New helmet."

_We're not on a planet anymore, are we? _Echo had no sensation anymore; no sight or hearing or tactile sense. Echo was only a memory in the mind of the beast. He perceived only what the beast perceived and those were only targets.

"Star destroyer."

_If you give me the helmet, I can bring it all back. I know this ship, Beast. _

"No."

_Please, Beast. _Echo sorrowed. _I don't stop you, Beast. I hold back what they've done to you. Let me see my memories._

The beast pushed Echo back. It wasn't hard. Echo was weak. It was why he was a memory and the beast lived.

* * *

><p>Echo shivered as he followed Fives to the small craft. The commander and the captain were there along with Kix and Are. All his friends that he hadn't seen in several lifetimes. Why then was he terrified? Why was he panting in anxiety? His hand slipped down to his blaster, touching it reassuringly.<p>

He strode up the ramp in step with Fives. He saw Kix, a big grin on his face, sitting on a bench by someone waist-deep into the engine of a flyer.

"Hi, Echo."

Are's greeting from slightly behind made Echo jump, and his blaster was in his hand. Echo gave a few nervous chuckles then smiled at the re-conditioned clone. "You're looking good, Are."

Are nodded. "Thanks to you, Echo. Thanks very much to you." Are moved forward to clasp Echo's forearm and Echo thought maybe this wouldn't be as hard as he had thought.

There were light footsteps behind him and Kix's voice saying something and Echo twisted his face to rein back the tears. It had been too long since he'd seen the command...

White pain blazed through him...

...and he woke lying next to a fire with Fives sitting across from him. There was a terrible expression on Fives face - horror and dread and hate.

Echo groaned and rolled away then into a tight ball, away from the hate; knowing Fives saw only the beast. "What happened, Fives?" There were tears falling and he didn't want Fives to see them. "What did I do? Please, please tell me I failed."

"You tried to kill … you tried to kill two people you'd known before."

"Tried?" That was a promising word. "They're alive?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Echo sighed. "Greeting Are and hearing..." White fire burned and he whimpered, pulling his arm over his face.

"It's ok, Echo. Just look at me. You don't have to think or anything. Just look."

Although Echo turned, he couldn't look Fives directly in the face. "Is everyone all right?"

Fives shrugged. "Are has a few bruises and a glorious black moon shadowing his left eye." Fives grinned and grimaced in the same expression, "he hung on to your arm, fighting you to a standstill while I was stunned by... what was happening."

"Tell Are I'm sorry. Tell Kix and the others that I am sorry." He sighed. "What will happen to me now?"

"I don't know, vod, but we will not simply desert you. Kix has asked that I give you some tests."

Echo sighed. "Kix can ask, I won't attack him."

"How do you know? How do we know?"

"Because I can think of him without feeling pain. Because I can say his name and not go into a frenzy."

Fives nodded at this statement. "We think you may be... overshadowed by... Sith darkness."

"Probably," agreed Echo. There was a pause, a silence between them when there'd never been such a silence between them. Echo rubbed his face and took a deep breath. "Maybe I should simply tell you what happened to me since the explosion on the Citadel."

# # #

Echo sighed. "Fives do you remember when we became brothers?

"Just after Rishi. We were the only two Dominos left."

"We became brothers because we were scared of going alone; because we thought we wouldn't be any good unless we were together."

"We were good, Echo. Together, we were great, Echo. We covered each other, supported each other. We made ARC, Echo. We were two of the best and there wasn't anyone who could beat us."

"The war beat us, Fives." Echo shook his head. "I'm won't be any good in the rebellion. I'm tired of war and fighting." He tried to be gentle. "I don't need you, _vod_. And you don't need me."

Fives eyes were bright with tears, but he nodded slightly. "If that's what you want, Echo. If that's what you need. But know that you're part of our family, that you'll always have brothers." Fives stood. "I'll go talk to the others, see what kind of arrangements we can manage; maybe with Chopper and his family."

"No, Fives. Not with any brother, not with anyone with a family. I'm dangerous and I don't know how dangerous." He looked at the coals of the fire. They were a warm, comforting red, like blood. "But tell Chopper for me I'm glad he made it."

"He'll be glad to hear the same of you, Echo."

Echo grimaced, he hadn't made it. He was as much a prisoner to this hated thing inside him as Chopper had been the last time he'd seen him.

Fives turned one last time. "I never needed you, brother. I _chose_ you."

* * *

><p><strong>THE WOMAN<strong>

He had a duffel slung over one shoulder and he was dressed in civvies rather than the white armor. Perhaps that was why she didn't have the reaction of fear. From his hard-soled boots to the sweater covering his broad shoulders and deep chest he could have been anyone on Qudenna. Only his face, identical to a million stormtroopers, kept him from dwelling in society.

She saw him when she went out the door. He was waiting for her; alert and prepared for any circumstance. She didn't recognize him… as other than clone… until she saw the grey in his hair, the twisted harshness of his lips and the soft, gentle eyes surrounded by hardness and death. Odd, that having seen him only once she recognized him. He looked at her and she saw recognition in his eyes but no hope.

He stayed where he was; dark, durable pants and a shirt covered by a sweater and a longer coat. He had a blaster at his hip and a blaster rifle slung over the shoulder not holding his duffel. She didn't know the different names of weapons but she recognized the heavy-duty military issue and the patina of use; the easy familiarity that made the weapon a part of him. While the rifle was slung over his shoulder he kept his arms folded, his hands away from the blaster at his hip under the long coat and moved slowly, crossing his arms across his chest. For her comfort, she realized, so she wouldn't be as scared. Because she knew he could have either weapon in his hands before the thought passed his mind.

She smiled slightly, walking to him, stopping within his reach. He took a small step back then recognized what he'd done and returned to his position.

"You never told me your name," she said. She reached out and touched his hand curling around his upper arm. She felt him tremble.

"Echo," he replied as he licked his lips nervously and glanced down at her hand on top of his then back into her eyes. "I've been looking for you. I was hoping we could discuss…" He smiled softly, timorously then ducked his head. "Poetry. Voices of thunder."

"I'm sorry." It was an abrupt apology and he blinked at her words. "I'm sorry," she said again, quickly as she saw dawning anguish in his expression, "that I ran away. You needed someone and I let you down."

For a while he stared at the ground. "I might have killed you then." His voice was soft, ashamed. "Sometimes the pain was so much I thought…" He sighed. "I might have killed you," he repeated.

"You told me what was happening to you and I didn't realize it."

He blinked. "I did?" His question was barely a whisper.

She nodded. "In the end," she quoted his own words, "you find out that survival isn't as important as what was lost."

"I'm looking for what I lost."

She let her hand drop from his fingers then reached out her open palm for his. He reached toward her tentatively, his hands no longer the clawed hooks of death. Her fingers curled gently around his and he shut his eyes. "I'm glad you're here." She said as she tugged a little on his fingers and Echo opened his eyes to follow her. "Come inside. I have warm soup cooking. A little water to the soup won't hurt it and there's plenty of bread."

He stopped at the doorway, his fingers running over the wooden frame. It was smooth, as if someone had caressed it a million times. "This is your home."

"Yours too, while you're a student."

He jerked, surprised by her offer.

"It's fairly common; when a student has come a distance, for the teacher to provide housing." She looked up at him. "And you've come quite far, haven't you?"

He nodded even as he spoke. "I've never had a home. Not really." Slowly his slung the blaster rifle from his shoulder, undid a cartridge and set it on the bench by the door. "They offered me one. A home. Offered me family." He gave a shy smile. "Sisters and nephews, a niece. They offered to introduce me to community but they… bonded. Shared experiences which I missed." He shook his head. "I don't want to share my experiences with them." His eyes were bleak and haunted. "Not with anyone. Not yet. Not until I'm sure the programming is gone." He shrugged. "That might take my entire life, probably will." He closed his eyes. "I can still feel it." His hand half reached and half gestured toward his heart. "This _thing_ they've done to me."

"But you'll share them with me?" It wasn't as much a question as it seemed.

He shrugged slightly. "Maybe because you saw part of what I'd become. Perhaps because you …" He grimaced and ran fingers through his grey-mottled hair. "Understood more than even my brothers? Somehow. Or gave it words?"

"Come inside and I'll lay out how such an agreement normally goes. We can negotiate from there."

Echo nodded. It was a beginning.

**EPILOGUE**

He was weak and let her spoon warm soup into him without argument.

"You've passed the critical point, Echo." She shook her head in wonder. "Three times your heart stopped beating." She paused and looked into his eyes. "You terrified me. I thought you were dying."

"Felt like it," he muttered. There was something wrong, something missing in him. Echo wondered if this was some debilitating condition caused by age – he was running onto fifty biological years now. He hadn't felt this bad since Fives had come with some miracle cure for the double aging about a decade past.

Three days ago, he'd been in the orchard working on an article justifying rebellion by force of arms as an adjunct to his 'Autobiography of a Rebellious Stormtrooper'. It had been a beautiful spring day, golden with promise and the words were flowing quickly...

_They were an efficient pair of writers; he had a voice of thunder now, she had given him that gift. He gave words to rebellion; speeches to Bail Organa, Mon Mothma and a hundred other leaders. Together they'd written 'Gorman' about Moff Tarkin's destruction of a peaceful protest. With Chopper and Fives' recollections and reports from other troopers, they'd collaborated on 'Order 66 and Ramifications'._

_The Empire tried to destroy the publications, of course, continued to deny their veracity but information was always faster than the destruction of the systems holding it._

… and he'd felt like he'd been struck by lightning, a crushing force that had exploded outward from him shattering the muja tree he'd been leaning against, burning the wood black.

"We have guests," he nodded toward the door, hearing the whine of a flyer engine. "I'll get…" He slumped wearily against the pillows.

"_I'll _get the blaster," she corrected him.

Echo chuckled weakly, suddenly too tired to keep his eyes open. "Just remember which end goes forward."

# # #

He woke to a dream, so he treated it like a dream.

"Commander Tano," Echo nodded his respect. "Captain Rex. It's good to see you."

Commander Tano took his hand in hers, twining her elegant ochre fingers in-between his. "It's gone, Echo. Darth Vader died and Emperor Palpatine died and their Sith tie to you…," she shrugged and Echo knew it was more complicated than the words she would say, "is gone."

Echo chuckled weakly. The reality of a dark hatred in him that wasn't his own, darkness he had lived with for twenty years was so much more complicated than her words and yet, her words were true in their simplicity. It was such a wonderful fantasy - to be free of what Vader and Palpatine had done to him so long ago.

Suddenly Echo knew again it wasn't a dream. Captain Rex didn't object to her holding his hand and even smiled through the tears in his eyes. Suddenly there were tears in Echo's eyes as well; sobs welling from deep within himself choking him and his heart bursting, aching to break and be reborn. Echo curled his face against her body as her arms went around his shoulders and muffled his sobs against her solidness, shedding tears that soaked through her clothing. There was a movement onto the mattress and he felt Rex's arm curve around his back, stroking his shoulders and gripping tightly, almost painfully into the hollow beside his neck.

They took him out on the porch as if he was the old man he felt like.

"It's good to see you too, Echo. We have missed you." Rex finally spoke as he sat on the porch with Echo, his voice raspy with emotion, harsh with his own tears.

"I heard," Echo smiled. "A hundred times each day because I'm good with information and a thousand times each night, wondering."

Rex shook his head, more silver than gold now. "A thousand times each night because I love you, _vod_. Because you are and have always been part of my family."


End file.
